Fate
by Nadie2
Summary: Before Ba'al goes back in time in Continuum, he sends another Gou'ald even further back. She's is now in SG-1's past trying inflict as much emotional torture as possible.  I didn't think this one would be shippy, but it turns out it is.
1. Chapter 1Forsaken Goddess

Fate

Chapter 1: Forsaken Goddess

Shy'a's POV Begins right before Continuum

2008-Another Planet

12,000 year is a long time, even for a goddess. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Shy'a, it means fate. I've spent the last 12,000 years in a canopic jar, and things have really changed among the Gou'ald in that time.

When I was a larva being implanted for the first time thing were different among the Gou'ald. I was a queen mother. While I have heard of some hiding this fact, it did not occur to me, in the first moments of being able to communicate, to tell a lie. I was foolish my first half century, but I learned wisdom.

Now, I am told, Gou'ald queens are leaders and some who are not queens choice to take on female forms. In my day no one who could have taken female form when they could have avoided it. A male Gou'ald started as a slave and if lucky and skilled ended as a king. A female Gou'ald started as property, and if lucky and skilled ended as property with the privilege of mating with a king.

I was rebellious and stubborn and frequently punished. I wasn't very subservient, I didn't bow and flatter and make myself into nothing to please. They often beat me, and used the torture stick, or zatted me. Whenever this happened I could see millions of people beat and tortured, and thanks to the memories of the Gou'ald's who came before me, I could feel the sweet pleasure the torturer had felt as they did it.

The memories inherited upon my birth were less than it would be for a Gou'ald that was born now days. Still they held power over me. 10,000 years of memories washing over you at any given moment can have that kind of an effect.

But the memories influenced me most in another way. They gave me an unending need for power. Each time someone defers to you, or bows to you, or pays you a compliment the ache eases for a moment. To be Gou'ald is at the very core of it to have an endless need for power which makes you feel dead until the moment when you receive power. Each moment of receiving power is one second of life, and then the hunger returns. Power is an addiction of every Gou'ald. Understand this, and you have gone along way too understanding our species as a whole.

By the time I meet Ra I was nearly fifty, and had learned much wisdom. I was still in my first host, a brute of a females Usas. I was a slave among the ranks of a minor Gou'ald that history has forgotten, and I was called by the name Ky'resh which some Jaffa had given me at implantation.

The second I saw Ra, I knew who he was. He reeked of power, and I knew I must take my chance. It was crazy what I did of course, but it was worth it. I thought about taking a male host. But I had been female for fifty years now, and the thought or residing in a male body, of lying about my gender repulsed me in a way that all the other lies I told did not.

I switched hosts into a beautiful, powerful, young Unas and called myself Shy'a-fate. Then I pledged myself to the service of Ra. I was still no subservient being, but this time I played one. Each bow, each flattering phrase, each "Master" falling from my lip, each time my eyes rose almost, but not all the way to his, brought me closer to the trust of Ra. It was less than a decade before I was made concert to Ra, the leader of the System Lords.

A concert was the highest a female Gou'ald could hope to obtain, and it wasn't much. You were still property, expected to bear young, and it was no position of power. But I made it one. With flattery I whispered my plans into his ear, so smoothly he mistook them for his own. Ra was my puppet ruler. I learned to ease my hunger for power with sips of hidden power which no one knew I took.

I may have been Ra's lover, and the bearer of his first young, but there was no love between us. He was a selfish lover, and it was easy to distance my feelings from him. After a time my position with Ra was well fortified, and I began to search for more power among his allies to ease the painful ache for power in my heart.

Secret meanings, fainted servitude, and plans whispered in ears like a lover made me an ally to all the System Lords. History speaks of Ra uniting the System lords, actually for the most part, that was me.

I went on like this for four or five centuries, gathering power. As I became more powerful, I acted more humble. I went on leading a double life, becoming so powerful that some days the ache barely bothered me at all. I might have gone on like this forever, but fate was not so kind. Since I am the goddess of fate, I have no one but myself to blame.

I should never have given Ba'al more than a second glance. He was young-only thirty when we first met; he was foolish-mouthing off to those with more power; he was not handsome-his unas rather gruesome, he had no power-being little more than a slave. I don't think I whispered many plans into Ba'al's ear. In fact, looking back, he probably whispered some into mine.

Ba'al alone saw me as I was. He saw my hunger for power, and how I filled that hunger. He saw my womanhood, and my personhood, and knew that both could exist in one person. He flattered me, and I flattered him, and often we looked into each other's eyes, something I had not done in six hundred years. Yes, Ba'al saw me, and with him sometimes, I dared to think it love.

It was foolish, of course, to walk about feeling emotions for the enemy of Ra. It was risky, of course, to enjoy the presence of another for more that the power it gave.

Ra saw us one day. We were lying in each other's arms on the couch of my private quarters when Ra should have been watching his Jaffa blow up a planet. Ba'al and I were discussing the effects of the new practice of Jaffa trading on long term loyalty, and suddenly Ra was in the room with us.

Ra took my betrayal hard. I am told that, all together, Ra had four queens which rebelled against him. But I was the first. The pain was new and fresh and hard. I know Ra never loved me, but it is possible he loved the person I pretended, for six hundred years, to be.

I was placed in a canopic jar and that is where I come to the 12,000 years part of my story. 12,000 years in a jar with an electric pulse to keep me alive, and fluid to sustain me and drug me into sleep.

Even more than half asleep, 12,000 years is a long time. Long enough, in fact to examine and understand all those millennium of Gou'ald abuses. Long enough to discover who I was. Long enough to accept love the person I had discovered. Long enough to plan a million ways to fill the ache for power which became so unbearable. Long enough to write sonnets, and epic poems, and novels, and plays, and opuses. It was enough time understand for philosophy, and mathematics, and love. I had existed for less than a millennium before my imprisonment, but 12 millennium to analyze one makes you wise.

Then some assistant to an archeologist drops a jar and I overtake her body-her human body. I was imprisoned years before humans were discovered. A human body was far less strong than an unas, but also far more beautiful. The one I inhabited at first was by no means the prettiest of humans, but I found my footing fast. Within a week I was in the most beautiful female of the village, and she was gaining power fast. I used the naquada in my blood to locate the Stargate, and walked through it.

It had been 12,000 years, but Ba'al still lived on the same hope planet. It looked nothing like his home had, but it was the same place. I knew Ba'al the moment I saw him. He'd left his unas' body for that of a dashing young man, but still I knew him by the way he held himself, and the royal cadence of his voice.

"Ba'al, it is Shy'a," I responded.

He looked at me in shock. He took me into his private chamber for a long talk. But everything had changed between us. He had power, and I had none. Even if Ba'al had loved me once, 12 millennium would be enough to cure the fiercest broken heart. More than likely, Ba'al had loved me no more than I loved Ra. It was beneficial for Ba'al to be near me, same as it was for me and Ra.

Ba'al was born in the days when women were nothing. Times had changed, but he had not. He had thought more of women than anyone in his time, but he thought less of them than those in this strange new time in which I now live.

We were nearly equal long ago. I was a powerful women, he was a powerless man. Now he was a powerful man, and he a powerless women, and the scales were definitely tipped.

It was a pity, for I had loved Ba'al so long I could not stop loving him now.

Ba'al gave information freely, and I gave flattery sparingly. I could not afford to become a servant to the man that I loved. Perhaps a bit of love for me remained, or a faint memory of his love for me. "Shy'a, I do owe you something," he told me seriously, "You taught me to rebel. I fought Ra. I allied myself with So'kar and fought Ra, more. Then I betrayed So'kar and fought him. You taught me to defy my god with flattery and smiles, the only way to defy a god and live."

"Who are they System Lords now?"

He winced, "The System Lords are dead, Shy'a."

"What happened to Ra?"

There was a shadow of feeling left, because he didn't like that I asked the question.

"Same thing that happened to most of the rest of them, they were killed by the Tau'ri humans," he spat the words as if they were poisoned.

"What is the Tau'ri?" I asked.

He explained about humans, and the Tau'ri, and the Tok'ra and a million more things I would never have imagined. My people had come far, in the 12 millennium I had been separated from them.

"The Tau'ri, humans that they are, are the greatest threat Gou'ald's have ever known. If we don't finish of the Tau'ri, particularly a few of the Tau'ri, our race will soon be finished."

I stayed with Ba'al for a few weeks, catching up on millions of years of history. He was hiding something from me, something big, but I pretended not to notice.

When I was quite sure that I had acquired from him all I needed to know I did a rather risky thing. I leaned forward and kissed Ba'al.

He looked at me critically, "The age of the Gou'ald is ending. I need no queen, and have not enough Jaffa to house a litter of larva."

"I don't wish to be a queen nor a servant," I replied.

"What do you want then?" he asked.

"To ensure the survival of my race."

"And to rule it?" he asked.

I nodded, there was no use in a lie which would not be believed. After all Ba'al saw me.

"Well, I will assist you with the first part and perhaps be your ally for a time. When it comes time for the second part of your plan I will fight you as any other rival, women," he spat that last word in much the same way as he had spat the word "human."

"That is all I could hope for," I said, and he showed me his secret-a time machine. Or to more accurately a machine that turned the Stargate into a time machine in a way I was not qualified to understand, though he explained it all more than once.

"I'm going back in time to destroy the Stargate on earth before the humans ever learn to use it," he replied.

"Send me back further, and I shall ensure SG-1 are destroyed," I replied.

He nodded his assent, and seemed ready to send be back right then and there.

"Wait," I said faintly. "If our plan works I may need to re-populate the universe with Gou'ald I shall require Code of Life from a human or a human host to a Gou'ald. This can be acquired long before it is needed."

He grinned at me. For the first time in my life, I had given someone a compliment quite by accident. "You want me to contribute the Code of Life?" he asked.

"Well, I'd like it from your host," I said trying to rip the compliment back.

He gave me a long deep kiss, before leading me back to his private chambers.

It took almost a full day to find the perfect trip back to destroy SG-1. I walked through the Stargate, and found myself on the planet of an enemy I didn't begin to understand. A cold icy planet. I, Shy'a, one of the last of the Gou'ald, am beginning a very important mission. I was going to destroy the workers of the Tau'ri gate, but I had no intention of killing them. 12,000 years in a canopic jar with Gou'ald memories, I had learned the most effective ways to hurt.


	2. Chapter 2 The Archaeologist's Daughter

Chapter 2: The Archaeologist's Daughter

Catherine Langford POV

March 1928-New York

The doctor was here again. There is candlelight and voices coming from my mother's room. I hear Grandmamer's voice, Mama's voice, the doctor's voice, and strange voice I had never heard before. They were whispering the way grown-up's do when they are trying to talk about something very important very quietly. I'm standing at the door to my room, and can't hear anything they say except every now and then when I hear Grandmamer whisper not to wake me up.

I'm wide awake, trying to figure out what is going on. Something bad has been happening for a long time, and I want to know what it is. My feet are freezing on the cold wood floor. I walk across the living room and lean right against the wall of Mama's bedroom, and slide down so my nightgown covers my freezing toes.

I knew something was wrong with Mama, and that she'd been getting worse. At first Mama hadn't played with me at much. But lately she'd hardly ever gotten out of bed. All her smiles were becoming tired lopsided things which made a little ache deep in my heart. She had begun to fall asleep while reading me bedtime stories. I wanted to know what was wrong with my mother.

"Cancer," the doctor's voice said. I didn't know what that was, but I didn't really like the sound of the word.

"I agree," said the new voice. The voice of a young women, but with some strange edge in it which I really could not identify.

"We have to tell Paul to come home," Grandmamer's voice said sounding old and tired and strained.

"No sense calling him home to watch me die," Mom said quietly, in a voice that sounded like a wounded puppy's yelp.

"But what about Catherine?" Grandmamer insisted.

"Mom, you've been taking care of her for months, can't you take care of her until Paul gets here?"

I heard the familiar soft sound Grandmamer's fingers made brushing hair from a forehead. A sound I usually heard from beneath the forehead, "Sweetheart, I'd watch that little girl of yours as long as you need me to. I was just thinking about what would be easiest for her."

There was a strange sound in Mama's voice, "Nothing is easy about this; Mama, she doesn't even remember her father."

Father, I thought about that. I didn't remember my father, though I could picture his face from photographs Mamma had showed me. I realized that the more tired Mama got, the more she talked about my father. I knew about how they had met in a park. How after that Mama and Father had lived together in a place called Egypt, until was born. She talked about how beautiful Egypt was, but it sounded boring to me, covered in sand. She talked about how my Father still lived there. How he came back sometimes to see us, but I couldn't remember him coming back. Someday, when I was bigger we would go back to Egypt to be with Father.

Mama often showed me things Father had brought from Egypt. They were beautiful, strange, and beautiful. But the one I liked best was different than all the rest. Mom said it wasn't Egyptian at all. It was a lovely little music box which played five different songs of Mozart. Inside there was a piano player, and two people dancing. Father had sent it to Mama long enough ago I don't remember her getting it (but I know my memory doesn't stretch back as far as grown-ups). It has sat on her nightstand ever since. Sometimes she plays it, but she doesn't let me touch it. She thinks I will break it. People think things like that when you are a child.

"It's hard to think of leaving your five year old."

Leaving? Where would Mama go? Why wouldn't she take me along? I had to stay with Grandmamer and wait for Father? Couldn't I stay with Grandmamer forever?

Mama was crying, than she stopped, "Mama there is so much I want to tell her. So much she needs to know, but I don't know how. I don't know where to begin. I'm scared she'll forget it, and that she won't understand. Mama, she deserves a mother."

I heard the sound of a hand being patted, "She'll have a father, and she'll have a Grandmamer. It isn't the same of course, but I will do my best to give her everything I can. But I wish you could do it yourself."

"I do to," Mama said.

"We are out of treatments," the doctor said.

"I concur," said the strange voice.

"Do we know how she got cancer?" Grandmamer said.

"There are lots of ways it can happen," said the doctor.

A young women left the room carrying the music box. She didn't see me, because I was hidden by the corner of Mama's room, on the floor, in the shadows. But she turned back toward I could have sworn that I saw her eyes glow.I wanted to tell on her, but I didn't know what Mama and Grandmamer would do if they knew I was listening, and I was also afraid of Mama leaving me. The girl took the music box, and walked out of our house.

"I'm sorry, I'm so tired," Mama said.

I heard Grandmamer stroking her forehead again. "Go to sleep honey, go to sleep." I got up and returned to my room before I heard the sound of the Doctor leaving.

April 1928-New York

I have a lot of questions, but every time I try to talk the words can't make it past the lump in my throat. I want to know what is death? Will it come and take everyone away or just Mama? Why does her skin feel like cold rubber? Is the real part of Mama somewhere else or is she gone forever? Why did death come for her? Will it come for me?

The questions make my head ache. But my heart aches all the time. It is like the ache mom's weak smiles made, but deeper and sharper. Sometimes it makes it so I couldn't breath.

I didn't understand what was happening, and I was terrified. I wanted to scream at someone to tell me, but I couldn't make myself scream any more than I could make myself talk.

Grandmamer takes me into her arms again and rocked me back and forth, stroking the hair from my forehead just like she'd done to mother, just like mother used to do to me before I got sick.

"You're ok Catherine, you're ok," she said. But I don't believe her. I'm not ok.

June 1928-Egypt

It still takes a lot of effort to talk. The lump is still there, but if I breath deeply and talk slowly I can talk around it. But my voice sounds strange-whiny and week. Father doesn't know this isn't how my voice always sounded, and Grandmamer didn't think to tell him before she left Egypt

"Father," I say trying to keep my voice even. He hates the whine in my voice, but it sounds whiny no matter how much I try, "must you work today?"

He closes his eyes. His lips are moving, and I know he's counting to five, he always is, but this time I don't recognize the language.

"Catherine, I need to work. Why don't you play with the village children?"

The village children didn't know what to do with me. They'd been kind, but I only knew a few Egyptian Arabic words. They were always willing to teach me more, but it was hard enough to talk in English, let alone a brand new language. The sand stretched as far as I could see in every direction. There were no toys in my Father's tent besides the small box Grandmamer had send after she brought me to father, and saw where I'd be living. There were books, but none with pictures, and I didn't know how to read.

My head didn't ache from the questions, through I'd never asked any of them. But my heart still ached. On good days it was a dull thud, on bad ones it was still the pain so sharp I couldn't breath. But now Grandmamer was gone back to New York, so she could not rock the breath back into me.

Father had much less of an idea what to do with me than the village children. We ate three meals a day sitting at a table on the floor. He pulled the blankets over me (though it was so warm I had to kick them off as soon as he had done it) each night before we went to bed. Other than that, and the few sentences I fought to whine out, we had nothing to do with one another.

"Can I watch you work?" I asked managing to keep most of the whine out of my voice, even over the lump which was growing larger.

"If you are quiet," he replied. I could do that. Silence, was easier than talking. Maybe I would be so good at being quiet that he would decide he liked me.

Egypt was hot. I sat on a dune, with the sun beating down on me. My father was in a hole swatting sand away with a brush. I didn't understand why he was doing that, but I kept watching, silently, motionless. This was giving me too much time to think. The ache was growing so sharp I couldn't breathe.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a motion. I turned toward it while moving as little as I could. It was the woman who had left my mother's room with the music box. It might just be the sunlight, but it looked like her eyes glowed. I was angry at her. I didn't understand what she was doing here. When she saw me looking at her she looked scared for one moment. Then she disappeared behind a dune.

I went back to watching my father. I can't quite tell you what happened next. There was some pain and some confusion, and the next thing I knew I was in my Father's arms. He was rocking me back and forth, brushing the hair off of my forehead just like Mama and Grandmamer, and crying.

It took me six tries to get out, "Papa, what happened?"

"A beam started to fall on you. I pulled you away just in time. I thought I lost you, Catherine."

I didn't understand, I hadn't gone anywhere. I'd stayed right where he told me to be.

"I know I haven't been the Papa you deserve, Catherine, but it hurt me too."

I understood this. I placed my hand over his heart, "It aches?" I asked, finding it easier to talk around my lump.

He looked at me surprised, "Yes, it aches."

"I thought I was the only one who ached," I said.

He pulled me close and kissed my forehead.

"You aren't mad at me anymore?" I asked.

He pulled me away so he could look in my face, he looked as confused as I felt, "You thought I was mad at you?" I nodded, "I wasn't mad at you. I'm afraid I don't know much about being a Father. I was gone so much."

I thought about the rocking, the way he whipped the hair from my eyes, the way he pulled the blankets over me before I went to bed. He could be a good father.

"نحن نعلم معا" I said, it meant we will learn together in Egyptian Arabic.

He was grinning at me, "Where did you learn that?"

"The children taught me."

"Listen to me, daughter, I'm proud of you. I love you. I was never mad at you." He kissed me on my forehead again, "We're going to be fine." That I could believe. We _would_ be fine.

Shay'a POV

This man loves his work. His wife dies, he pauses not. His daughter almost dies (drat his quick action) he pauses not. It seems as if nothing I can do will keep him from finding the object which I feel beneath the sand. Naquadah calls to naquadah. Everything in my wants to dig it up myself, but my goal ought to be to keep it from being found. But this man, he is stubborn.

Catherine's POV

November 1928-Egypt

I had spent the morning trying to think in Arabic. Papa says the fastest way to learn a new language is to think in it. But all that thinking in Arabic was giving me a headache. It was just as well, because there was no way I'd be able to find the words to describe what Papa found that morning in Arabic, it was hard enough in English. It was a ring, higher than several Papa's stacked on one another. There were strange pictures all over it. Near this strange ring someone found a necklace, and laid it on a table. I slipped it into my pocket.

That night when we were leaving I told Papa about it, and asked if I could keep it. He looked at it, and traced his fingers over the lines.

"It's the sort of thing I used to send your Mama."

"I know, that is why I wanted it." He smiled, and handed it back to me, "You can have it, Katie."

"Do you know what my favorite thing you ever send Mama is?"

"What?" he asked.

I told him all about the music box.

"Katie, I never sent you mother that music box," he said confused.

Then I told him more. I told him about the women I saw taking it away.

Papa didn't know what to make of it all, and neither did I. He placed the necklace on my neck, and kissed my forehead.

May 1945-New York

Ernest was somewhere far away. His eyes were focused on the path before us and his hand was in mine, but none the less I could see he was in another world.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Just work," he replied, not yet coming back to the world I could share with him.

"The artifact," I prompted. I think sometimes Ernest forgets I've known about the artifact a lot longer than he has. After all I was there when my father found it. By the time I was ten I was writing my father's notes from dictation.

"Yes, if we could just find the right combination…"

"What?" I asked.

"I don't know," Ernest said, "something."

If I had been male I would be working on the project right now. I was more than qualified with my experience and the degree I'd earned a few weeks back. But the real reason I wanted to be part of Ernest's world, was that I wasn't male.

"Catherine," he said focusing on me fully, "How was your day?"

Ernest could defiantly get lost in his work, but when he was with you he was with you.

"I was offered another job as a secretary," I said.

"You didn't take it did you?" He asked sounding concerned.

"No, but someday I might have to accept I can't get a job as an archeologist," I said sadly.

He bit his lip, "I don't want you to settle, Catherine."

I grabbed his arm, "I won't be settling with everything," I said grabbing his arm.

He looked at me with a weird look on his face. "Catherine, let's fly the kite now." I'd thought it strange enough that Ernest wanted to fly a kite when he told me a half hour ago. It seemed stranger in the middle of this conversation.

He told me to hold the string while he ran down the hill with it. Suddenly I looked up and saw "Will you marry me," written on the kite.

"Ernest," I said running toward him on the hill.

"Catherine, I don't want you to settle. You can marry me and we'll work oversees, but if you want to stay here and get a job, I'll get you a job. You will not be settling."

"Ernest, I will marry you and follow you anywhere. Egypt, Peru, Iraq, or down the street. I don't care as long as you are there."

"Catherine, you better at our job then most of the people that I work with. You deserve…"

"I'd love to work in my field, but Ernest I love you a lot more."

He grinned, "I love you to Catherine."

Then I saw the ring-a genuine Egyptian scarab.

I was one lucky girl.

May 1945-New York

"Did you get the gate to work today, Father?"

This was not good, he wouldn't look at me, "There was an accident today. An explosion in the lab."

Oh no, no, no, "Ernest," I said sounding less panicked than I felt.

"I'm so sorry,"

I can't breath, I can't talk. It's been 17 years since I've felt grief like this. I'm crying and he's holding me, for along time.

I have so many questions I have to ask them, but I can't.

Finally I manage to ask in Latin, "quis venio" which means what happened. I don't know why it was easier in other languages, but it was.

He is brushing the hair off my forehead like I am a little girl again. "Catherine, the details won't help."

I shook my head.

He thought for a moment. "This girl in the lab, she suggested a serious of combinations, but when we did them…No Catherine, you don't need the details."

My dad understood grief, having lived through it himself. He made sure I ate even when I refused. He got me up and about when I was feeling good enough. When I didn't feel good enough he sat next to me in bed and brushed the hair from my head. He was patient with me, and he told me, "You will be ok, Catherine, you will be ok."

He was right, but it would never be the same. With Ernest had died my career hopes. When, after a great deal of time, I had healed enough to live again, I took a job as a secretary. But I never settled. If I could not have my Ernest, I would have no one.

Shay'a's POV

He would have figured the thing out. Maybe my information is wrong, perhaps humans were not like the Unas. Perhaps they are smarter. No Unas would figure out the gate was an address. So he wanted a gate address-I gave him one.

1948-New York

I suppose a part of me knew he was dead a long time before I got to the hospital. Something about the way the nurse talked on the phone. Still, even when I saw him I didn't quite believe him. The last time I'd seen a dead body I was five years old. Mom had been worn thin by cancer a long time before she died. Heart attaches are different. They are sudden, and they don't drain all the life out of you first. Dad didn't look dead. He just looked still.

That poor doctor who came in to tell me he was dead before they even got him here. I think he thought I knew. Then I was crying, hating myself, because I sounded like I was hysterical.

"Ms. Langford, your father has passed on," that's all he said and he had a bawling women on his hands. I knew I sounded stupid by I didn't stop. I didn't stop until my tear ducts ran out of water, and not even for a while after that silent sobs wracking my body. My ribs hurt, my eyes stung, and I had a horrible headache. And dad was still dead. He was even starting to look dead.

Along time ago I swore I'd never touch another dead person, but I had to. I reached a finger out and brushed his hand. It was like cold rubber. I felt like I was five again. I felt like an orphan, and I was, even though I was already twenty-four years old.

This young nurse comes in and sees me all crushed, and she squeezes my shoulder, but it isn't comforting, its possessive. I turn to look at her face, but she's already gone.

Three times I have had my heart ripped from me. Three times I have lost everything I had. Only this time I was worse. When Mom died I had Grandmamere. When Ernest died I had my Father. When Father died I was alone. Alone to brush my own hair from my forehead, take dictated business letters, and learn ancient Egyptian. After all, I am the archaeologist's daughter, even if he's dead.

Shay'a

The program was shut down. No reason to kill Paul. But I was bored. I had the Goa'uld electrodes. I wanted to know if they worked, if they would fool the Tau'ri into saying heart atach. They did.


	3. Chapter 3 Fisherman's Wake

Fisherman's Wake

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September 1964 Chicago

Shay'a's POV

I am told that Ra picked these human bodies because they were easy to repair. Alright, they might be easy to repair, but they were fragile. It only took the weakening of a two beams to ensure a ship could not weather a storm. One ship going down and one fragile human life extinguished. On fragile human life extinguished and one family forever altered.

Jack's POV

September 1964 Minnesota

I was glad to have escaped from the party unnoticed. I slipped off my boats and dangled my feet over the edge of the dock. My toes felt the shock of the cold water.

"If you're gonna sit there Johnny lad, you might as well be holding a fisherman's line," my Grandpa's accent always got thicker when emotion was choking his throat closed. Today was the thickest accent I've ever heard.

"I'm not really in the mood for fishing, Grandpa," I said bitterly.

"Just as well, your Daid and I fished that lake dry when he was just a lad."

"I really don't want to talk about Dad," I said hurling a rock into the water as hard as I could.

"That is what wakes are all about Ladie,"

"Yeah, I don't get the whole celebrating my Dad's death thing," I said.

"We're celebrating his life," he said sitting down next to me, "Have a Guinness, Lad," he said handing me a bear bottle.

"I'm 13, Grandpa."

"Even boys are allowed to drink at their Daid's wake. But only one, and only tonight. Now you have a toast to make young man."

"I don't want to."

"That don't really matter lad. Now me, I didn't really wanta be burying me only son. That's something I'd wish upon no man. But da God Lord didn't really give me choice in the matter. Da storm that took his ship make that choice, Johnny lad. Now you didn't have a choice to lose your Daid. But hiding from it don't do no good. Avoiding talking about it don't do no good."

"I would hurt less."

"Let me tell you lad, this all seams nuts. De whole way we grieve. I thought it was nuts years ago when I lost your Grandma. But people don't do things like this for no reason. People have been losing people since the dawn of time. This whole grieving process thing, this is the best way they've come up to deal with it. It ain't easy, lad. They can't make a big ugly thing like death easy, but it's easier than any other way. Even if that weren't true, your sisters and your mother need you."

"I don't think I can do it," I said with worry laced in my voice.

He looked me straight in the eyes, "Lad, a man can do a hell of a lot more than he ever thought he could when he's backed against a wall. But long as these lungs are still drawing breath you won't have to. I'm not asking you to take care of them. I'm asking you to go make your speech. You just set a good example for those two baby sisters of yours. Now you'd better go give your toast."

"You don't understand, if I try to make the toast…"

He shook his head at me, "Lord there ain't no shame in tears child. If you wanted to see a man blubber you shouldn't run off on the beginning of me toast. Now go give me son the speech he deserves."

Great, a roomful of drunk fisherman telling fish tales, what a cliché, and I hate clichés.

"There are fish in the sea better than have ever been caught," one of his friends was saying. That was a pretty good way to sum up my father. Always searching for the one fish that would be bigger and better than any fish he'd ever caught before.

"Slante!" My grandfather said taping his near empty beer bottle against my still full one, and clearly giving me the floor.

"Slante!" They all responded.

"My father," I began, surprised by how strong and grown-up my voice sounded," was a man of a few words. But he always said the important stuff." I looked deep into my sister Jessie's deep eyes, "He told me fear was the enemy, and to never surrender." I locked eyes with little Jasmine, "He told me that I needed to be myself." I focused on my mother, "That family is all that matters." Then I focused on the far wall for the rest of my speech, "My father was a good man. He looked out for everyone, even people who didn't know they needed looking out for. My father would do anything for you. I remember when was six he found out how much I loved watching the stars," a little choke came to my throat, "he bought this expensive telescope and stayed up all night studding all the consolations so he could teach them to me," no more personal memories now, "My father was a fisherman," I continued.

"The best damn fisherman the Great Lakes ever saw," his buddy's voice piped up. Most of the drunken fisherman banged their drinks together before a long swig.

"He was also a good father, and a good man. He deserved more time," here I stopped and the tears were half out. My mom looked panicked. She hated all emotions, even her own. I closed my eyes and finished off with an Irish blessing my father had said each night when he was not out fishing,

"Bless those minding cattle,

And those minding sheep,

And those fishing the sea

While the rest of us sleep."

My grandfather hugged me and whispered in my ear, "If God sends you down a stony path, may he give you strong shoes." Most of the Irish blessing my grandfather said didn't make any sense. But the ones that did…Well, they really made sense.

The next day

I love mornings. I know that isn't normal for a teenager, but none the less it's true. Mornings are even better at Grandpa's cabin where they don't involve traffic or buildings. It's the part of the morning, when the whole world is holding its breath awaiting a dawn which is still a good hour away. I grab my fishing pole, although I don't really intend to use it, particularly since Grandpa finally admitted there are no fish in the lake.

The stars are way better out here. I don't think it's just the ambulant light thing. I think the woods are closer to the sky then the city. Ok, I don't really think that, but I wish I did. Anyway I mean they are brighter, clearer, and just more real. So beautiful, you feel their beauty if you know what I mean. Plus there is the smell. Grandpa's land is covered with pine trees. In the early morning when they get drenched with dew these things give off an amazing smell. If your only experience with pine scent is a car air freshener or even a cut down Christmas tree, you are missing out. This is way more intense. The sun creeps into one of those slow sunrises that make you wonder how it is even possible some chemical reaction that far away can make beauty right here. One of those life changing sunrises. Then the birds begin to sing, and I try to separate them, identify all the different species.

So I'm laying on my back on the dock staring at the stars when I see Jessie sat down next to me. She doesn't even pretend with a fishing pole.

"However long the night, day must come," she says so quiet I'm not sure I'm meant to hear her.

"You sound like Dad," I say not looking up.

She moved strangely, and I looked into her eyes. I've never seen anything like that. Pain that just sort of rips your guts out just from looking at it. "God, Jessica," I said sitting up and wrapping my arms around her. I hold her close and both of us sob for a long time.

"What are we going to do without him, Jack?"

"I don't know," I said helplessly.

"Are we staying here or going back to Chicago?"

"I don't know," Gee doing a great job taking care of your little sister here Jack, I thought to myself.

"What are we going to do about money?" she asks.

She's only eleven, I hadn't expected her to think of that, although I suppose at thirteen no one expected me to think of it either.

"I don't know."

"I'm scared," she says.

I bring her in for another hug, and whisper into her hair, "Look, Jessie, I have no idea what is going to happen. But I promise you will be taken care of," I lift her face so she's looking into my eyes, "Always."

After breakfast Mom sits us down for a serious talk.

"Children, our situation has changed,"

Ya think?

"Your grandfather has invited us to come live with him in the cabin."

Of course he did, we're his family.

"And I've accepted his offer. I'm getting a job at the factory in town, and we do have savings. There is only one thing that I'm worried about. As you know your father and I planned on giving each of our children a college education. That is no longer possible. There will be money for one of you to go to college," she glanced around between us, "Whoever has the highest grades when Jack graduates will be the one."

Jessica looks like someone just punched her in the stomach. Ok, so I've got awesome grades, but hers are nothing to sneeze at either. I mean does she really think I'm going to steal from my baby sister? Jasmine looks completely unaffected by the news. That's because she's eight. My sisters are going to college.

"Mom, don't even worry about me, we'll find a way to send the girls," I say calmly.

They are all staring at me in surprise, "You're my son, Jack," she said plainly. Let me tell you family obligation separated from emotion is creepy. I always say Mom doesn't love us, but that makes Jessie furious. Ok, so she probably does love us, at some level at least; she's just not great at showing it, or telling us. That was always Dad's job. Now I guess it's gonna be mine.

"I know Mom, but they are my sisters."

"And you're our brother, Jack," Jessica points out.

"Yeah, and you are way smarter than us," Jasmine adds.

"My way is the most fair," Mom says in that voice she uses when she thinks she has control.

Ok, well I'm just gonna have to stop being way smarter than they are, then.

"I'm going to town, anyone want to come with me?" Grandpa's voice called from the other room.

"Yes," Jessie and I answered at one. I lean over and kiss mom on the forehead on my way out of the room. I think if she wasn't so opposed to tears she would have cried.

Grandpa's pick-up was a thing of beauty. It was about as old as the glacier whose melting formed Minnesota's 10,000 lakes. The pick-up was missing about half its floor boards, the result of losing a rather long battle with rust. It didn't start with a key but rather a wrench and an Irish curse. Grandpa thought we kids didn't know Irish, but we knew a few words. Almost everything on the pick-up worked just a little differently than it did on any other vehicle. For instance, in order to make the radio work someone had to hang out the back window and move the wire in a counterclockwise circle while someone else held together two shorted out wires in the passenger seat. Grandpa always said it was better that way, because conversation is better than music.

Grandpa pulled out on the dirt road by the cabin, and he looked over at me, "You wanta drive son?" I knot formed in my chest as he called me that. I could tell he noticed it by the way his eyes got tender as he pulled over, "Come on Johhny lad."

It was a clutch, a clutch with lots of extra instructions caused things which had stopped working long ago. But the first time I put my foot on the gas and the car obeyed-obeyed me years before I should have been allowed to give it a command. That was an amazing feeling.

"Easy," he soothed as the car began slowly to move.

Driving made me feel alive for the first time since Dad died.

"There is a lot of good in this life," Grandpa said looking off in the distance, "Don't forget that when the bad tries to choke you out, kids. I fought in the war to end all wars. Now that idea didn't work out, but this is what those good men died for. A peace where kids could drive cars and fish, and go for long swims. Jessie lass? Are you getting ready for your turn?"

October1965 Minnesota

I was examining my room. Peridot was by far the world's most relaxing color. Jasmine walks in, "Jack the rest of our stuff came from Chicago. There are a lot of books."

Jasmine may not like books, but she knows I live for them. However, my little sister's needed college, a lot more than I needed books. I had better start playing the part right now.

"Let's go for a hike in the woods," I said. She grinned at me. This was going to work, this was totally going to work.

Shay'a's POV

January 1969, Minnesota

I had thought the boy destroyed once. But, though human bodies are resilient, they are frail. His grandfather is the source of strength, of emotional stability, of sanity. If I remove that he will break. This man cannot be so strong. Human beings heal easily, but they break more easily.

Jack's POV

January 1969, Minnesota

I'm so numb I can't put a sentence together. Oddly the numbness has nothing to do with the bellow freezing temperature and the fact I am walking through the woods coatless.

"Jonathan O'Neill you get in here this instant," Mom's voice echoes against the trees.

Yeah I should go inside. She's way past panicked and pissed. But come on, I'm seventeen, not like I have to listen to my Mommy; and right now freezing to death sounds like a pretty good option.

My brain is numb, but it keeps replaying one scene which I desperately want to get forget. I see Jessica's face, the one that rips you apart with the pain, and here her voice say, "He's dead Jack. Grandpa had a heart attack and he's DEAD."

Right now I should be in there comforting my sisters, and arranging stuff for my mom. But I can't, not right now. Right now I am walking in circles around a freezing cold wood. Grandpa was wrong, we aren't always capable of doing something just because we have to.

Then I see it-this Purple Asher. Now by nature they are a resilient little thing, but not Minnesota-in-winter-through-three-feet-of-snow resilient. There is actually nothing on earth that resilient. I look at that flower and remember what Grandpa once said, "There is a lot of good in this life. Don't forget that when the bad tries to choke you."

I stomp the snow off my shoes and walk into the house. Jasmine wraps a blanket around me and I pull a sobbing Jessie in for a hug. I let out a deep sigh and in my head I say, "Ok Grandpa, I'll do the impossible, for you."

1970 February Minnesota

I stood outside the Air Force recruitment office wondering what Dad would think about all of this. He was pretty anti-establishment in his day. I know what Grandpa would think. He'd be thrilled. He loved the Air Force, plus he would love my reasons. Buck up and be a man. Earn money so your sisters can go to college.

Of course, thinking about what Grandpa would say was mostly to distract me from thinking about what the living members of my family will say. Mom will hate that I didn't make the decision with her. Jessie will cry and beg me not to go and die. Jasmine will-actually I wasn't sure what Jasmine would say. She was hard to predict, and heard to read.

Well, I said to myself with a deep sigh. Vietnam here I come.

"Name boy?"

"O'Neill, with two l."

May neighbours respect you,

Trouble neglect you,

The angels protect you,

And heaven accept you.

Every finger has not the same length, nor every son the same disposition.


	4. Chapter 4 The Archaeologist's son

Chapter 4: The Archaeologists' Son

August 5, 1973 New York

Daniel's POV

I always hated our periodic visits to the states. New York is no desert-it's cold, it's loud, and it's so full of people you can barely breath.

Egypt was better. In Egypt I could wake up in the morning and decide to play a game with local children, help my parents uncover artifacts, read a book in some foreign language, or be in a camel race. Whatever I felt like. I was profoundly free in Egypt. Every now and again Mom or Dad would hand me some science book or page of math problems to "round out my education," but these tortures were few and far between.

My time in New York did not belong to me. My parent's time in New York, wasn't really theirs either. In Egypt my parents would take mornings or days off sometimes to play with me, to visit with the villagers, to do nothing at all. Other times, when they were hot on the trail of some great find they would work through day and night for weeks breaking only to make sure I was getting food and sleep when needed. In New York there were schedules, museum openings, and guest lectures, before at last we could retreat back to the land where all of our hearts lived.

The worse was I didn't get to stay with them. I had to go to school. School was tough for me. The other students had been together at a small private school for two years. I just drifted in and out. They all knew the same things, which were taught them by the same teachers. I knew different things. Everything about some things, nothing about others. They would laugh when it was revealed I didn't know who George Washington was or why July 4th was celebrated. My math was slow, and I often had to write in Arabic and then translate it. Then I would knew more about ancient civilities then my teachers, and read in Ancient Greek during free reading time. Even stranger to them I read faster in Ancient Greek than in English. Not that my English reading wasn't fluent. More strange to my peers was the fact I had never listened to, read, or watched the things my peers had dubbed "cool." I did better with adults.

But on this trip at least there was no school, it was summer break. My parents were setting up an exhibit at the New York Museum of Art. So we'd walk there each morning with a bag of books from the library. Usually I read, sometimes I played outside.

My mother had recently met a girl not much older than me who was a math genius; as a result she'd become rather found of hearing me recite my times tables as she worked. I would think she wasn't listening, absorbed in an ancient Egyptian text, but one mistake and she would catch it, every time. Sometimes I did them in Greek or Latin, then she would pause her work to listen, that took all of her mind. Still times tables were not enough to ruin the pleasant rhythm of our days.

A flash caught my eye and halted my recitation. If I hadn't known better I would have been quite sure that a monster with glowing eyes was lurking in the shadows behind the exhibit my parents were putting together. Then a women emerged from the shadows. I had been going to this museum for two weeks now. I knew every single one of them. She did not work there.

I started to follow her, and then I heard the worse sound I'd ever experienced. The sound of a limestone slab hitting marble, a dull thud too deep for splinters. I turned and ran toward the fallen stone. Jake, one of my father's workers, grabs me and held me back. I fought to free myself desperate to reach them, to save them.

Someone pulled the stones off of them, and I saw their still bodies for one second. It's funny how many kinds of stillness there is. There is the stillness of sleep, incision, boredom, and then there was the stillness of death. Death is a stillness like no other. I broke away from Jake and fell on them, trying to pull them toward me. Someone grabbed me and deposited me in another room.

The sickening thud kept echoing in my ears. The sight of stillness always before my eyes.

I don't know how long it was- an hour? A day? Before a somber lady came and took me to an office. She turned a TV on to cartoons and sat started making calls on a phone at her desk. I doubt I would have been interested in the show under normal situations. Under these ones there was no chance.

If my feet had been obeying my brain's orders I would have gotten up and shut it off. I tried to listen to her phone calls but even that was too hard. I did hear her say, "Nickolas Ballard," that was my Grandpa's name. My stomach knotted and twisted wondering what she'd tell him. I was terrified she'd tell him I didn't save them, and he'd never forgive me. He'd never want to be around me anymore.

Someone came in and handed the women two small Styrofoam boxes. She nodded to them as she finished her phone call. Then she walked over by me and flipped off the T.V.. She set a box before each of us.

"Danny, time to eat."

I shook my head.

"You need to eat," she said touching my shoulder lightly. I craved more touch. For the one moment of human contact, I felt a little bit better. Though still worse than I'd ever felt before in my life.

"Danny, be a good boy, and take a few bites," she coaxed.

I wanted her to go away now. It was hard to believe a few minutes ago, I was longing for her to hug me, now I wanted her out of my sight. So I took three bites, as quick as I could. She pated me on the head, and I pushed my head up for one more millisecond of contact, even degrading contact.

She spun about and returned to the far side of the room, flipping the TV back on on the way. I suppose she expected me to continue eating. I didn't, I laid down. I suppose she thought I was sleeping, I was not.

Hours, painful agonizing hours passed. When they brought dinner she tisked tisked at how little lunch I had eaten. She talked me into eating most of a meal, and tried to get me to talk.

"Danny, I heard you are a bright boy. What do you like to read about?"

I shrugged, so sure my voice wouldn't work I didn't even try.

"Danny, you know what happened to your parents right?"

I sobbed hard, and somewhere in the middle of the sobs I nodded. She hugged me and the flood of pain receded enough so the sobs stopped after a few minutes. But already my diaphragm ached from the effort of sobbing.

Then she said, "Danny your Grandpa is coming from Belize."

"Nick," I said faintly. I had to make myself normal by the time Nick came to get me, or he wouldn't take me.

"Yes," she said with a wide grin, "Thank you for talking to me, Danny."

"Where will I stay until Nick comes?" I asked. Please don't say with you. Please don't say with you. Please don't stay with you.

"Your foster parents will be here soon."  
>I didn't need to say a word for her to know I was confused.<p>

"Foster parents are people who take care of you for awhile. They will act as your parents until we find your forever home."

I furrowed my brow, "who will I live with forever?"

"We don't know yet Danny."

"Nick?"

She smiled, "I hope so Danny."

My stomach lurched, what did she mean? Nick must be mad at me. I had to do something to make it up to him. He had to forgive me, love me.

"Can I have some paper?"

She seemed pleasantly surprised and found me some paper as well as a pencil and some markers. I tried to remember Mayan. Nick had taught me some last time we'd visited him, but I couldn't bring any to mind. After all, I'd only seen him for a few hours.

I settled for Spanish, after all they spoke Spanish in Latin America. In my fanciest script I wrote a poem to my Grandpa. The women looked over my shoulder a few times, confused and concerned.

I finished the Spanish and added an Egyptian hieroglyphic translation. I loved hieroglyphics, it was like art and writing all in one. After some thought I added Latin, even making it rhyme in both languages (no one knowing how to speak Egyptian I couldn't rhyme in that). It was easy to rhyme Latin though, just about everything rhymes in Latin. Then I remembered one word in Mayan "Taatich" "Grandpa." I wrote it large in the middle of the paper.

Then I took the markers, red for nouns, blue for verbs, and on and so forth until the page was covered in color.

The whole time I was getting more and more nervous. What if it didn't work? I felt like I was going to throw up. What if in the end it wasn't enough.

Mr. and Mrs. Walker, my foster parents, came not long after I finished. Mrs. Walker bent down next to me. "That is beautiful Daniel," she said indicating the paper, "What does it mean?"

I shook my head, "It's for my Grandpa."

Her face fell, barely imperceptibly, as she tried to hide it, "Of course, sweetie. You can come stay with us until your grandpa comes."

"شكرا." I said them I blushed. I said it in Arabic by accident. I'd spent most of my life speaking Arabic. "Sorry, I said 'thank you'," I said in English this time.

"Don't apologize for being brilliant, Daniel." She said.

As she said this I felt something warm and calm in my heart. She looked like she wanted to hug me. Instead she rubbed me long and slow on my back.

"Has he eaten?" she asked my prison guard. Prison guard nodded.

"Does he understand?" my foster mother asked looking at the women. She nodded looking at me. I had to try to be brave. If I was brave Nick would take me.

When we walked outside a car backed. It sounded too much like limestone crashing into marble. My stomach lurched, and I froze. Mrs. Walker turned to me even before I froze. She expected it.

"Just a car Daniel, just a car," she said rubbing my back.

It might be ok. Maybe the Walkers would keep me, even if I wasn't very brave.

As I sat in the seat of their car I saw a big bag of books. "We got some of your books, is that ok?"

I nodded my head.

"Do you speak German Daniel?" Mr. Walker asked.

I shook my head, my diaphragm forming a square knot.

"Pity, it's the only language besides English I know. When we heard you know many languages, I thought German might be one."

My heart sank. I'd messed this up already.

"I thought it make you feel more comfortable. Guess I'll have to learn Latin," he continued.

"Don't be silly," Mrs. Walker said, "He's more used to Arabic, aren't you Daniel? They speak Arabic in Egypt nowadays don't they?" There was some uncertainty in her voice, but she was right, assuming for thousands of years qualified as 'nowadays'.

"Or you could teach me German," I said smiling at Mr. Walker.

Mr. Walker caught my eye in the rear view mirror with a look I'd never seen before, except in the eyes of my father. I didn't know what it was. But I liked it. I liked it a lot.

The Walkers had a room ready for me. It was pretty generic. Just a bed, dresser, and desk. But the dresser drawers were full of my clothes, the desk was stacked with my books, there was a brand new train still in the box on the floor, and a still tagged teddy bear on the bed.

Mrs. Walker came in to tuck me in. I wanted so badly for her to hold me until I fell asleep. But I wasn't a baby. No one wanted a baby to take care of. Mrs. Walker rubbed my back, and told me a story-my very first fairy tale. Then she left and I spent the first of many nights wide awake in a dark lonely abyss.

August 5, 1973 New York

Catherine Langford's POV

I would never have missed an Egyptian exhibit at the New York Museum of Art, even before I returned to Archaeology three and a half years ago. Egypt had always been my love, my passion. But now it was my job. I was pouring over the same thing my father had been, with no more enlightening results.

Strange how I got the courage to apply for archaeology jobs. It all started with a visit from the son of my father's college and his female friend. When they looked at me, I don't know, they saw me. They valued my opinion in a way that no one had since Ernest.

Even though I was working in the field again it was silly to go to the New York Museum of Art today-the exhibit didn't open until next week. As I try to enter the building I see her again. The being which has haunted my nightmares for over forty years.

She looks at me and I see recognition in her face.

"The museum is closed" she said both panic and the touch of strangeness in her voice.

"I think I know you," I say.

Her eyes glow for a moment. Forty years I've been telling myself I imagined that. She runs off and I follow her. I never find her, and by the time I'm done I'm near home. Oh well, I'll come back when the exhibit is actually open.

August 9, 1973

Daniel's POV

The Walkers took me to my parent's funeral. I hadn't seen my parents since the first few minutes of their death. A bunch of adults I didn't know debated what would be best for my closure. They voted on me seeing them. They thought it would make the whole things seem more real to me. Strange, my parents looked like dolls, death still dolls. Defiantly didn't make it seem more real like the adults thought it would.

I didn't know Nick was at the funeral until he waked up and said, "Waffles Daniel?" His eyes were dull with pain and not looking at me. God he hated me, because I didn't save him.

"Who are you?" Mr. Walker asked stepping between us.

"He's Nick," I say. I really want to call him Grandpa, but I knew he wouldn't be thrilled with that.

Nick extends his hand to Mr. Walker and says, "Nicholas Ballard, Claire's father."

It makes an ache deep inside that he will claim my mother, but not claim me.

I've kept the paper I made for him in my pocket for days now, and I take it out and give it to him. His lips move as he reads it-translating it to English. I'm disappointed, I went through all the work to make it rhyme in two language, and he is changing it into English where it sounds clumsy, and emotional, and calls him Grandpa-a name he hated.

When I wrote things for Mom and Dad they always read them aloud in the language of their composition.

Nick finishes reading and corrects a Latin declination (one which I changed on purpose to make it rhyme) before telling me I did good work.

Mrs. Walker gives me something between a pat and a rub on my back before I go with Nick.

Nick's POV

When Claire was growing up I flew in every now and then to play with her. I left the hard work of raising her to my wife. By the time she was twelve we could hold an intellectual conversation-_then_ we were closer than most father and daughters. I always figured it would be the same with Danny.

Claire is dead. My daughter is dead. When I heard, I just figured I'd take Daniel. I was running off memories, and I seriously thought it would work. I was picturing a miniature anthropologist and I trekking across Belize together.

Then I see him and he's eight. I mean I knew he was eight, but he was _eight_, and eight is very very small. He hands me this linguistically diagramed poem and I feel like I've just gotten grad school students resume (and I've gotten worse ones to be sure).

He's eight. He deserves a childhood, and I can't give him one. If he goes back to Beliz with me now, he won't have a childhood; he'll have a really long internship. He'd never go to school, play with his friends, skin his knees learning to ride bike, eat ice cream with sprinkles, play in a tree house or do any other normal childhood things. I'll be dammed if I'll have my own Grandson in a sweatshop.

Plus, I work in South America, it's a pretty dangerous place. I've already lost an awful lot. My wife dying of cancer four years ago. My daughter, my son in law dying. I really couldn't take another death. I wasn't sure if I could take these ones.

Of course, I could leave all of it behind. I could get a job at some university, and spend my life stateside with Danny. I could leave the digs. But, really I couldn't. Archaeology is an addiction, a disease, and they have never found a cure.

God, if there was a cure, Daniel Jackson would be it.

August 9, 1973

Daniel's POV

Nick tucks me into the hotel bed that night, and walks away. Then he looks back at me and looks into my eyes. I see something there that I am familiar with, too familiar with. He lays down next to me and wraps his arms around me. For one second I feel safe, and the tears start. I sob into my grandfather's chest. I sob, and sob, until I'm all empty inside, then he keeps holding me. Suddenly all of my muscles relax. I had no idea every muscle in my body had been clenched for a week. I had no idea that I even had so many muscles. It felt good when they relaxed, I felt relief from pain I didn't even know I had. I fall asleep, and it's the first time I've really slept since they died.

When I woke up he was still holding me close to his chest, my muscles were still relaxed, and I was still sad. But it was a different kind of sadness, this sadness I believed I could survive. A trip to the bathroom proved to me that it wasn't just my outside muscles that had spent a week of tenseness.

Nick and I went to breakfast again when he woke up. He was looking really glum and wouldn't look me in the eye. I saw the pain in his eye that I had seen last night. I wanted to make him feel better like he had made me feel better.

"How do you thank you in Mayan?" I said as the food arrives.

He shut his eyes for something that was a bit to long for a blink, but too short for something else.

"You don't have to learn Mayan, Daniel."

"I love learning languages," I say with a grin. A little thrill went through me, I knew nothing of Mayan culture; it would be a new adventure.

"Daniel, you are not my employee, you are my grandson." Something shone in his eyes with these words, but he still wouldn't look me in the eye, "Daniel, I'm leaving for Belize, tonight."

"We are!" I hadn't thought we'd be leaving America so soon, and I hated it when I was stuck stateside.

He looked like I'd slapped him. "Daniel, you are going to be staying here."

I struggled to get the air back into my lungs. When I finally succeeded "Why?" I asked letting my waffles drop from the fork to the plate.

"Daniel, I can't give you what you need."

My stomach twisted into a knot that got tighter and tighter, "I'm sorry I cried last night, Nick. I won't do it again."

Suddenly for the first time all day his eyes met mine, "Danny, it's not about the crying. It's good for you to cry."

I stammered, looking away from him, "I helped Mom, cook over the open fire. Dad taught me to build a fire. I used to help them dig out artifacts. I used to help them translate things. I couldn't do this for awhile, but once I learn Mayan I can…"

He cut me off, and raised my chin with his hand, "Danny, you shouldn't be worrying about those things you should be a kid, a normal kid."

It was at that moment that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt. I'd never be normal. Normal people are loved.

1970

Daniel's POV

I'm elven, damn it. I'm not a kid. The Walkers are arguing again, and they think I don't know it. Mrs. Walker tells me to go to bed. I know its fake and I don't go far.

"Damn it, Larry," she hisses so quiet I wouldn't be able to hear if I had obeyed, "this isn't fair, if he was really my kid it wouldn't matter."

My heart sank. Three years, I thought I was her kid.

"I'm telling you, I didn't do anything," Mr. Walker says calmly.

Mrs. Walker's teeth are so tightly clenched the words hardly escape, "I caught you with her!"

"I can't explain this," Mr. Walker said sounding desperate, desperate and confused, "but I was telling her to leave. I was trying to get away, and then she breathed." I hard pain in his voice. Pain, but not guilt.

"You are not helping yourself Larry," she said anger laced in her voice.

"It felt like I was drugged," he protested quietly, as if he already knew he wouldn't be believed.

"Of course you were drugged, when she breathed on you. It all makes perfect sense," sarcasm was laced in her voice.

"I know it sounds crazy, Delilah."

"Larry," she said loudly.

"Shh," he said, "Daniel will hear you."

She points her finger in his face and said, "Don't you dare pretend to care about that little boy now. You should have thought about that before."

"Delilah," it was pleading. Pleading for me, it was good to have someone plead for you.

"Look Larry, I tried, I really tried, to pretend things are normal. Divorce would mean we lose Daniel. No way they would let single people keep a foster child. I thought I could ignore it. I can't. Every time I look at you…" she said.

"I can promise it will never happen again," Mr. Walker said.

She shut her eyes, and spat with bitterness "How do you know she will not breath on you again Larry?"

He reached for her shoulder, "Delilah," he said softly. She moved her shoulder in a strange awkward way to avoid his touch, and spun around to leave the room in a roundabout way which kept her far from him.

I rush to my bed, and get there just before her. She tucks me in and rubs my back in that way she has. She rubs it for a long time. I'm sure she thinks I'm asleep, and I'm also sure I hear her crying. We may not be a family, but we could have been. We could have been a great family.


	5. Chapter 5 Life

Chapter 5: Life

August 1974

Jack's POV

There is nothing like a crisp fall air to make you feel profoundly, profusely alive. Of course surviving a war like Vietnam can give you that kind of feeling too. Add to that the fact that Jasmine picked me up from the airport in Grandpa's pick-up, and I'm driving it back through the woods right now. Grandpa's pick-up was so beat up it was unbelievable the thing still ran. Thank goodness Jazzy was sentimental enough to keep it running. To see something as old as that still running, it made you feel immortal. The woods make you feel really alive too-the wind, the plants, little animals, and birds moving and making noise. Woods are so active.

Funny thing, when I joined the Air Force I never imagined I'd be in it for life. I figured I'd go to 'Nam for a couple of years, bring home Jasmine's college fund, and figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

I guess I should have known, I was the only teenager on the planet who actually enjoyed early mornings and boot camp challenges. Then there were the people. I'm not usually a huge fan of people. But the Airmen I served with were of a pretty high caliber. They would do anything for you. Those men kept me safe in situations where safety should have been impossible. In short they had your six.

The Air Force is like a secret club. One to which I was granted admittance in part because of the ignorance act I had perfected in high school. Dwebs don't get invited to card games. Geeks don't hear about the after work drinking. Future officer material don't get to hear the jokes making fun of officers, and those jokes tend to be pretty funny.

Not that 'Nam was a picnic. War definitely isn't fun. But I grew-up in a house full of girls, and here it was almost all men. I had always felt like I never quite belonged, there I fit right in. More importantly, I was feeling useful for the first time in my life. They needed me there.

Now I'm coming home with a good start on Jazzy's college fund and a few medals. I quickly decided I hated medals. To me they weren't reminders of the amazing things I'd done. To me they were reminders of the people we weren't able to protect, people who's sixes we didn't have. It hurts every time I look at the medals. But I'm bringing them back, maybe they'll mean something to Mom.

I never imagined I'd be in this for life. But I didn't fool everyone with my ignorant act. I did my best on the tests, and there were a couple of times when intelligence was needed in the battle field. You don't play dumb when lives are on the line. So they knew I wasn't ignorant. They offered me a chance to leave Vietnam and go to college at the academy, to become an officer. The Air Force would become my life. It was in my blood. Not from birth like it is with some people, but it had got in there nonetheless. It was like those infections which come in and change your blood, forever.

"Jack, I wanted to thank you," Jasmine says looking at me with uncharacteristic sincerity.

"For what?" I ask

"For the money for dance lessons. I didn't need them, and it meant a lot to me that you made sure I got them."

"It was nothing, Jazz," I said softly.

"It wasn't anything, Jack. You went to war for me. I should have stopped you. I should never have let you do that."

"Jazz, my number got drawn, I would have had to go anyway."

Her voice was strained in a way I'd never heard before, "Six months Jack, six extra months. I should never have taken a sacrifice like that. I was twelve, I didn't'\ know what war was, and I didn't really understand it was all for me."

I smiled to myself, thinking your sixteen, you still don't know what war is. Then I caught the look in his eyes.

"Jack, I'm glad your home." Maybe she did know what war was.

"Jazz," I said trying to shatter a way to serious moment, "have you thought about what college you want to go to?"

She shook her head.

"Jasmine, it's only two years away. You need to start thinking."

"I'm not going to college, Jack."

I turned to stare at her, to glare at her.

"Jasmine, you're going to college. There is no reason for you to sacrifice for me. The Air Force is going to send me to the Academy. I'm taken care of-and I wouldn't let you do that for me."

Jasmine locked eyes as best she could despite driving, "I shouldn't have let you do that for me Jack, and I won't anymore. But that isn't why I'm not going to college Jack." I just waited a moment. "I want to dance Jack."

"Dance?" I say after a pause long enough to keep the condemnation out of my voice.

"Yeah, dance," she said.

"What kind of dance?" I ask not quite in the even tone I'd meant to say it in.

"Ballet, I got offered a chance to tour with a ballet company when I graduate."

"And this is what you really want?" I ask.

She nodded.

I smile at her, "Ok, but you'll be fully clothed as you dance correct?"

She laughs, and sort of hangs on my arm, "It's good to have you back, Jack," she says.

I realize with surprise that Jasmine has grown-up while I was gone.

"Will you help me tell Mom?" she asks supper seriously.

"Of course, Jazzy."

1976 New York

Daniel's POV

I'm used to letters from Nick, packages are something new. I open it up and see this amazing music box. The note says, "This used to be your grandmother's." The box has two people dancing and plays this beautiful music. It's girly, and it's way too fancy for me. But my foster mother loves it.

1977 New York

Daniel's POV

The thought of leaving another place I learned to call home hurts, but I look at Jane, and I don't blame her. I want to stay. I want to help her get better. But they are giving me back. Jane doesn't want me to see her when she get's really sick. "Cancer is ugly" she reminds me with a really weak smile. She gives me back the music box, and it feels so final. Like she doesn't want anything to remind her of the year and a fourth when she had a son. Then when I unpack my stuff at the new foster mother's house the music box is gone.

February 1980 New York

Shay'a's POV

I don't even know why I brought a healing devise to the Tau'ri home world. I wasn't really planning on doing any healing. I suppose I brought it merely because I owned it. It will come in handy now. Sometimes healing causes the most pain. Twenty years is a long time to wait for a baby-particularly if you have no longer than a frail human lifespan.

She will get the baby she's always wanted. Then she will give back the borrowed babe who needs her. My Daniel, you shall lose your fourth set of parents.

February 1980 New York

Jack's POV

I'd graduated with honors and had been given a few months of leave before I went on oversees missions again. I'd spent some of it at the cabin, but my mother and I were never that close, and to have her alone in the cabin was not fun. I visited Jessie and her husband in the cities, and I went and saw Jazzy dance in New York. She was really good. While I was in New York I stopped in to see a friend of mine who had come back from 'Nam worse for the ware.

I knew that David wasn't doing well after the war. I even knew he'd spent most of the last year in a mental hospital, but I really wasn't prepared for what I saw. Damn this was hard. It was bad enough to see the war destroying people when we were over there. It was near impossible to watch it continue when they'd been back for years. This so was not fair.

I left the room for a little air, and a break. I head into the hallway and I see a kid who looks like he's barely touched his teens, maybe not even. From the look on his face I know something is wrong, and I'm hoping none of these crazies are his parents.

"Hey, Buddy," I say, and he doesn't even look at me. "What's wrong?" I ask.

"Bored," he responds. Ok, this kid should definitely not play poker. But I go with his lie, and hand him a yoyo. The kid has no idea how to handle it. What kind of kid doesn't know how to work a yoyo?

"Whatcha doing here?" I ask.

He glances at me, and I get this weird feeling like he's looking through me or vaporizing me with his eyes or something. He must have decided he liked what he saw, "My foster parents think I can't be left at home and since my foster mother is going to the doctor. My foster father a psychologist gets to take me to work. But since I can't go in with him to see patients I'm still alone, just alone in a public hallway instead of alone at home."

Ok, which part of that very fast speech should I respond to first?

"Anything serious wrong with you mother?"

"Foster mother, and she's pregnant with the baby she waited twenty years for."

Be a normal human, I coached myself, ignore the preposition at the end of the kid's sentence. Ignore it! Focus on what he said. Sounds like a simple case of sibling rivalry, and here I thought it was something serious. "That is a good thing isn't it son?"

I saw him flinch. Yeah, the son thing was a bad idea. I hated it when my Grandpa called me that, I bet it was worse from a stranger.

"Yeah, great for them, for me it means I'll be moved to another family."

"Don't be silly," but then I look in the kid's face. He's not deluded, and he's not joking. Those assholes really intended to cast this sweet boy off like a fucking practice kid. I really, really want to say something. But this isn't the kind of kid you make quick promises to. I need more information.

"What happened to your parents?"

"They died, this is my third batch of foster parents. I'm old enough now that I'm a lifer in the system."

I shut my eyes. Oh, I so need to figure out how to make this kid part of my family, my heart is breaking for him right now.

"What is your name?"

But just then a women zooms around the corner. She looks furious, and the kid's face goes white. I'm thinking this must be mom, but then she acts like she doesn't even know him.

"What are you doing with this child?" she asks angrily.

"I was just talking," I say. I'm so not getting what her problem is right now. Must be the danger of having a conversation in the psych ward hallway.

Then she walks close to me, way closer than people normally get to each other, and glares into my eyes. "I've known your kind before, you get away from that boy." Oh God! Oh gross! She thinks I'm a fucking child molester.

Then it occurs to me. No way in hell is anyone going to give custody of a 12? 13? Year old boy to a twenty six year old single Second Lieutenant. Ok, so not single, but definitely not married. Sarah and I had left things a little ambiguous, not knowing when I'd be back in town. We'd been together with two years, but I still didn't know…focus Jack!

She sees my backing down in my eyes, and I could have almost swore her eyes glowed for a second before she turned and left. I go back to my buddies room thinking my break was a little bit less than calming than his room. Who knew? As I sit there I think about one of my professions at the Academy. Dr. Mackens, he spent the whole semester of his class trying to convince me I should go on to get my master's in psychology. I'm starting to think he wasn't completely wrong.

March 1980 Iraq Iran Border

Shay'a's POV

Humans are fragile, but they don't seem to notice it. They go jumping out of planes with some fabric and a piece of string to protect them. It isn't hard to tangle string.

March 1980 Iraq Iran Border

Jack's POV

My mind is working really hard to form a complete thought. It's not working.

Ok, who am I? Jack O'Neill. Where I am? Dammit, where am I? Ok, we'll work on that latter. Injured where? Ugh! Everywhere, I was inured everywhere. Focus Jack, what the hell happened to me?

I lost consciousness for a bit, but when I came to I remembered what happened. The parachute, the chute didn't open, it was all tangled together. I'd untangled it, but my clumsy panicked fingers took too long. Fast enough to save my life, but not fast enough to prevent this damn pain.

I groaned, unauthorized mission, no rescue. Crap. Alright so unless I wanted to die of dehydration-right up there with freezing to death and starvation on damned unpleasant ways to die-I'd be getting out of there on my own power.

The effort of trying to stand caused me to pass out yet again. This time when I came to I took more careful stock of my injuries before trying to move. That arm was broken for sure, defiantly something wrong with at least one of my ribs. Then I put a tentative hand up on my head from which my most severe pain originated. Shit, heads were not supposed to have dents, defiantly not jagged bloody dents. I held still with closed eyes until the wave of nausea and dizziness passed. Ok, at least I didn't pass out this time, but no more head touching.

Ok, dehydration was starting to look better and better. Really, I was insane to try to walk it out of here. I could just lay here and die. I closed my eyes, this was sounding better and better. I was more than half dead already.

But when I closed my eyes I saw Sarah's face. I saw her face, and I knew it all in a split second. I loved her. I would marry her. I was going to crawl my way out of the desert to get back to Sarah. I flop on to my stomach and begin to crawl. This would be a long as crawl.

But worth it. Life is worth it. Sarah was definitely worth it.

1981 Panama

Shay'a's POV

There are many ways to torment-the most difficult is insanity. It is personal, delicate, and internal. But earth made me long for a challenge. Nicholas Ballard was my target. Already worn down by grief, and scorn of his peers. But his brain was stable still, stable through it had viewed things which all refused to belief. He believed them, because he saw them. He trusted himself, and still he was sane.

The Goa'uld have a chemical. It doesn't cause insanity, but it makes the brain see things that aren't there. If there is a strong enough influence telling them they are there. It absorbs slowly, over years, through the skin. Then during his sleep I used a Goa'uld memory device to give the gift of my own genetic memories. The nastiest bits of my own genetic memories. At first I only give him nightmares, but soon the haunting visions creep into his daytimes. Finally the day comes where he cannot tell the haunting visions from reality.

It is a calm rational madness, but it is madness still.

1981 Oregon

Daniel's POV

Ok, so this was a stupid idea. A truly awfully stupid idea. The main reason it was stupid is that the people I love tend to, well it doesn't end well. I'm trying to talk myself out of believing that I caused people's deaths by loving them. I know that doesn't make sense, but I still feel it. Then again Nick has had already had some bad crap happen to him.

I can't believe I didn't even know. I mean the letters kept coming addressed from Panama, it never occurred to me he wasn't there anymore. Then he slipped on some of his current events. I asked him and he confessed. For six months he's been in a mental hospital in Oregon, and I never knew. He was ashamed to tell me.

I may not know much about families, having lived eight years without them. But I do know that when your family is in trouble you show up. I would have been here when it happened if I'd known. One more thing Nick took from me.

Ok, so back to the stupid part of this. I sorta ran away. I'm not sure how much you can call it running away considering I'm now on foster parents set number sixth. I'm less of a catch the older I get. No one wanted me, and I am more than capable of taking care of myself. Nick needs me.

So this all made sense back in New York, before I-ran away. Here in Oregon, standing outside of a mental hospital my reason for coming is a bit more ambiguous. Deep breath, and in we go.

1981 Oregon

Nick's POV

The worse thing about insanity is the fact that you can't trust yourself. It's worse than other's mistrust, worse than their fear, worse then suddenly finding yourself a second class citizen. No the worse is that you get to spend the rest of your life sorting your truth in to real and not real.

I've gotten pretty good at this reality discovering thing, so when I see Danny outside, I think nothing of it. Well, that isn't quite true I have a very interesting line of thought about the role of wish fulfillment on insanity.

Then all of a sudden he walks into my room, and I know he's real. He's introduced by a nurse I've already become quite certain is real. Insanity gives you practice with logic. I could probably write papers on philosophy. After all I spend my days thinking about the definition of reality using a philosopher's best friend logic. Or maybe not, after all my heart still belongs to archaeology, and no one would read papers written in a nut house.

"Daniel," I say my voice sounding a little unsure.

"Nick," he says and the kid looks like he's going to throw up. The nurse leaves.

"So Daniel, not that I'm not glad to see you, but how?"

"Let's not get into that," he says blushing deep red.

"Not going work Danny," I say laughing a bit, "how?"

"Train," he responds not looking in my eyes.

I groaned. Seriously this boy could win a beat around the bush contest. "Danny do your foster parents know you're here?"

"I'm 18," he replies. God that kid could lose a fortune in poker.

"Danny…"

"You were there for the party, Nick," he says and this time his face does have a touch of reproach. I consider this. I was there for his birthdays. But I didn't remember his eighteenth. I had clear memories of 1-16. Of course I was crazy. It was possible that I had been here longer than I thought, that the boy really had aged two years. It was possible he was telling the truth, but I was going to have to go with my gut.

"Danny, it's rude to lie to crazy people, it confuses them."

He looks really guilty as he says, "I'm sorry Nick," and I am oh so relieved I guessed right.

"So you ran away?" I ask looking into those gut wrenchingly innocent despite it all blue yes.

"Yeah," he says looking away.

"Why Daniel?"

"Because you're my…because we're family Nick." He says.

"Daniel you shouldn't have run away.

"Nick," he says and he shuts his eyes for that supper long blink, just like his mother, just like me.

"Danny," I say, knowing he needs to be told, dreading telling him, "Danny, there is no way I can take of you. They wouldn't let me. I'm in a mental hospital."

Those clear blue eyes settle on me, "But you want to?" he asks.

God yes Daniel, I think. But aloud I say, "I wanted to take care of you then, but I wanted what was best for you."

I've gotten better at reading people since I went nuts. I think I pay more attention. There is anger in Daniel, but he does another supper long blink and then his eyes focus on me again. They focus on me full of love and determination, "I'm old enough to take care of myself now Nick."

What he really means is, I'm old enough to take care of both of us.

"Danny, you are sixteen."

"Six sets of foster parents," he says evenly, with a touch of ice. God I really tried to do what was best for Daniel. I screwed it all up, and it's way too late to fix it now. He continues, "You are all I have Nick. I don't want to live on the other side of the country from you, particularly since you won't be making as many trips to New York," he said indicating the bars on the windows.

I look at him. He's wrong of course, he's a hell of a lot younger than he thinks he is. But in a way he's right too. He's old enough to make his own choice, and it's not like I could have really stopped him.

"Alright, but you don't run away. Those foster parents of yours must be panicked. You will call them, tell them where you are, see if you can get it arranged to move down her officially, and have a home to go to at the end of the day."

We sit in silence for a while, and then he looks at me and says, "What happened, Nick?"

"The crystal skull…" I say wavering hoping he'll buy the same explanation as the rest. They all assume I'm here because I saw something that wasn't there, once, over a decade ago.

"Right, giant aliens," Daniel says with a patent teenage eye roll.

I didn't mean to say it, I mean I am in a mental hospital. Still I hate the fact that even Daniel, hell, even Daniel age six never believe me. "Daniel, they were real."

He shakes his head a little and studies me with a completely unreadable expression on his face, "Nick, those giant aliens aren't the only reason you are here are they?"

God I wish they were. That wouldn't be so bad. To be convinced (for I am still convinced) that something is real that isn't wouldn't be life shattering. No the crystal skull had little to do with why I am here. There were the nightmares, but they too I could have endured. I could have nightly watched myself commit horrors and gone on living. No it was the day time horrors which had brought me here. The constant seeing of things which are not.

"No," I answer him quietly. He wants to know more, but he accepts that I can give him no more right now. He nods slowly, accepting it, accepting me, accepting all of me. He kneels down before my chair and hugs me. Hugs me for a long, long moment in which the nightmares evaporate like mist and I trust myself again for a moment. I feel good. I feel safe. I feel loved.


	6. Chapter 6 Slippers or Boots

Slippers or Boots

September 3 1982 San Francisco

Sam's POV

My mother wakes up at five every morning-no alarm required. She does this even on the weekends when there is nothing to do that early. But on weekdays, she finds plenty to keep her busy. She makes coffee first, and sits next to my father in bed as they drink their cups together. Then while he gets ready for the day my mom cooks breakfast. I'm not talking like pour some cereal and make some toast kind of make breakfast. I'm talking gourmet three course meal with fresh squeezed orange juice kind of breakfast. The kind of food that makes people close their eyes and groan with pleasure. She calls Mark and I down to eat our breakfast in our pajamas. Then Dad rushes off to work, and we get ready for school. Before Mark and head out the door mom always hands us an amazing lunch and gives us a quick kiss on the forehead.

This isn't just what my mother does; it's what she is; it's is what she loves. My mother's whole being is caught up in our perfectly checked homework, award winning science projects, and on time arrival for each piano lesson. Her identify is consumed with perfectly mixed martins and famous scuffles. She loves it. She loves every minute of it, you could see it in her face when we arrived home from school with a herd of children following begging for a bit of Mrs. Carter's cookies.

On Saturday afternoons we baked. When we were kids it was Mark, and Mom, and I. But by the time Mark turned ten he found ways to escape. I never wanted to escape. Cooking, even more so baking, was like magic. Actually, it was like science, and that was even better.

Of course, I kept my scientific musings to myself. It didn't take me long to see Mom's distain for me explaining the chemical reaction that occurred when baking soda hit the cookie batter. She almost threw up the time I explained to her what yeast really was. Mom isn't bored by the chemistry behind cooking; she is scandalized by it. Or at the very least she is scandalized that her daughter knows it.

It wasn't like my Mom was an idiot. Actually judging by the master's thesis on Milton she hid in our family library, the woman was quite brilliant. But to her, a woman's academic accomplishments were things laid away on a shelf somewhere collecting dust.

So on Saturdays' mom and I baked together, both enjoying the task more than can be imagined. She thinking of flavor combinations and family, and I balancing chemistry equations in my head. To each her own.

September 10 1982 San Francisco

Sam's POV

"Samantha," my mother's voice called to me from downstairs.

I didn't even respond. Soon she was standing exasperated in my doorway. Apparently she had been so sure I would respond that she'd started without me. At least that was the story the flour covering her told.

"Samantha, baking time," she said with a wide grin.

"Not today, 'kay," I said. I saw her face fall, but I ignored it.

"Why not?" she asked sitting down on my bed obviously preparing for one of out mother-daughter-heart-to-hearts. I wasn't in the mood. Our understanding of the world was being changed, and no one seemed to care but me.

"Two words mom, cosmic inflation."

She pulls back like I've said a swear word. Then she tries them over in her own mouth before looking at me to explain.

So I help her out, "It's changing the way we look at the big bang."

It takes her another couple of seconds before recognition covers her face, "Physics?" she guesses.

I nod turning back to the paradigm altering article in my hands.

"And this is for school?" she asks sounding hopeful that her daughter is indeed sane after all.

"No Mom, but it is fascinating."

"Ok, Samantha," she says finally taking the hint. She pats my knee before she stands. Then she turns back when she gets to the doorframe, "You know, next week I'll be gone on that retreat with the wives of your dad's unit." I nod, "I won't be home next Saturday." I nod again. She sighs and turns to leave.

Mark comes into my room about an hour later. I was really hoping to get this read without any more interruptions. So I try ignoring him. He grabs the article out of my hands and holds it behind his back. "What the hell did you do to mom Sammy?"

"Nothing!" I groaned. I was weighing the trouble I'd be in for beating up my little brother-again, against having my article back.

"She's been mopey all afternoon Sammy, go talk to her.

"Come on Mark, you haven't baked cookies in two years. I'm skipping one weekend."

"Two," he said holding up two fingers, "besides when is the last time you went on one of Dad's Sunday afternoon death marches."

"Mark, they aren't that bad," I sighed, "Besides sooner or later they're gonna find out that we aren't doing these lives they planned out for us. Come on Mark, you'd make an awful solider, always getting beat up by your sister," I said trying to wrestle the article from his hands.

"My big sister," he pointed out with a pout, and managing to keep the article from me only because I was afraid of rippinng it. Then he got serious, "So you're not planning on doing the whole mom thing?"

I plopped back on my bed. Apparently one serious discussion was the price of getting to read my article in peace. "I don't know maybe. It's fun to do the whole playing house things for awhile, but…" I snatched the article since he let his guard down, "Science, that is something I could do everyday," I say with a contented smile.

September 18, 1981 San Francisco

Shay'a's POV

The people of earth have a particular fondness of a foul tasting substance they call alcohol. I was confused by this at first, because it tasted so awful I couldn't imagine anyone drinking it without the duress of torture. But then I noticed a behavior change it causes in humans.

I was of course immune. So I stayed away from the awful tasting stuff. Until, a drunk driving commercial gave me a great idea of how to dispose of Sam's parents. But plans rarely go as they are supposed to. Jacob didn't pick her up, some classified whatever held him up. Perhaps I should have postponed the plan. But I'd already consumed so much of the awful stuff, I didn't want to have to drink it again. One is better than none.

It's easy enough, when sober, to cause an accident which will kill a human, but allow a Gou'ald to come away nearly unscathed. The jail break, that was a bit harder.

September 18 1982 San Francisco

Sam's POV

Two weeks without baking and I was in deep withdrawal. Mom was coming home today, and I tried to plan it so I was just starting baking when she came through the door. You know, "Surprise." But she was late, and I just got going. I really got caught up in it, trying out this new recipe. Then the same recipe with modifications. I guess I didn't even know how many hours had passed. It felt really good, and I wasn't even running equations in my head.

I'm scooping the last cookies onto a plate when Dad walks in. I want to be angry at him, he should have picked up mom and brought her home hours ago. But I'm looking at his face and suddenly I can't be mad at him. Something is wrong, something is seriously wrong.

"Dad," I choke out, and he just takes me in his arms and holds me. "Dad, you were supposed to pick up mom at the airport," I whisper into his shoulder. I feel his body wracked with sobs. My chest clenches tight. I wait a bit and then ask the question I know I don't want answered. "What happened?"

He told me out at arm length, "There was an accident, Sammy."

I start toward the door, "We have to go see her," he's shaking his head, "She needs us Dad!" I scream.

"Sam," he chokes, "Your mother…died."

"No!" I scream, "You were supposed to pick her up."

"I know," he says walking toward me. I run to my room locking the door. I cry; I scream into my pillow; I lay still. A half hour later I hear a soft knock at my door, "Sammy, are you ok?"

"Go away!" I scream the tears starting again.

"Sammy, I'm sorry I wasn't there to pick her up. I got caught in a meeting. You have to know, I'll never forgive myself for that, so I don't expect you to. I wasn't there for her, but please let me be there for you."

I open up my door and we stand there for a long moment big puffy eyes looking into big puffy eyes. "It really wasn't your fault," I admit. Then I fall into my Daddy's arms, and sob.

September 20 1982 San Francisco

Sam's POV

This seemed like a good idea last night, but now that an alarm is blaring in my ear at five am I'm seriously rethinking it. I shut the alarm off before I made everyone else join me in my early morning misery and I stumble into the kitchen to find the coffee maker. I start assembling Mom's famous hollandaise sauce as it perks. I pause after pouring my Dad's coffee. I've never had coffee before, and Dad might freak (my being only fourteen) but it was 5 am and caffeine sounded pretty good right now. I poured myself cup. I bring the two cups into Dad. He looks at once hurt and touched.

"You don't have to do all this Sammy," he says taking a long sip. His eyes closing with pleasure.

"I know, I want to," I said thrilled Dad said nothing about my first cup of coffee. I take a long sip prepared to close my eyes in pleasure, instead I spit it back into the cup, "How could anything smell that good and taste this awful?" I asked in horror.

"It's an acquired taste honey." He said laughing. He leans forward and kisses my forehead and I go back to my eggs benedict.

October 5, 1982 San Francisco

Sam's POV

When fall hits, our kitchen floor is really cold at five am. I mean unbearably cold, so cold your whole body shakes and you just want to crawl back under your warm blankets. I could run upstairs and get some socks. But let's be honest, if I head up those stairs I'm not coming back down. My thick comforter will claim me. My mom's slippers are sitting next to the step the way they always were. I'm not surprised. Dad hasn't really moved any of Mom's stuff. So I slip on Mom's slipper.

The slippers don't fit. I mean I should have realized. My mom isn't a big woman. But they really don't fit. My entire heal is sticking out the back of the slipper. I see my Dad's combat boats by the door. I hop over to them and slip them on. They are a little too big, like there is room to grow in them. Somehow wearing them makes me feel powerful; it makes me feel strong and brave. But most importantly they are warm.

As I start the waffles I balance a few chemical reactions in my head. This doesn't take long since I did the same ones the last time I made waffles with the same recipe. I start another calculation in my head. Let's see the average lifespan is 65 years-14. That is fifty one more years of making breakfast. Times that by days in a year and we have about 18,615 more breakfasts to make. I groaned. This knowledge must have distracted me, because when it was all said and done breakfast consisted of double size waffles, and burnt bacon, and the counter and waffle maker were buried in goo that looked like it was trying its best to take over the world.

Mark and Dad ate it without comment. I'm offended. I mean all this time when I slaved over perfect breakfasts I assumed they noticed. I did with Mom's. It's like they can't even tell the difference between good and crappy food. The suddenly I stop.

The slippers don't fit.

The first week of playing house was fun, despite getting 45 minutes less of sleep per day. But now the slippers didn't fit. It was ok that the slippers didn't fit, because Dad and Mark would be happy with toast.

I thought again, biting my lip. The combat boots fit. I wondered if they really did. "Dad did you want to go on a hike after work?" I ask. His whole face lights up. I've been saying no to his hikes for four years now.

I glance over at my mom's slippers. I think I'll keep them. They might not fit right now, but someday…

1988 Iraq

Shaya's POV

Jack O'Neill used to be an easy man to break. Oh he mended fast enough. But it used to be that the death of a fellow soldier he so much as knew the name of would be all it took to knock him on his ass for a few months. I thought a few months as a POW would take care of his brokenness for a couple of years. But that man has strength beyond anything. His little baby son, his Charlie, that's all he thinks about.

1988 Colorado Springs

Sam's POV

I hear that a few newly released POW are in the academy infirmary. I can't help but pop in with the slightly ridiculous splinter excuse. I mean, I've been studying at the academy for three years. I joined thinking I was embarking on my two lives-soldier and scientist. So far all I've got is the scientist part. Not that I'm complaining, scientist is good. But I'm ready to get started on the other half of my life now.

I see this man laying on a cot. He's got this form that just draws my eye. He's restless, half conscious, and suddenly his gorgeous deep eyes open wide and meet mine. Crap! Samantha, an officer just caught you checking him out! But I'd overestimated his level of consciousness. "Sarah?" he asks groggily. I shake my head. The eyes are starting to focus, and his hand goes to his head like he's got a serious headache, "Where am I?" he asks.

"Academy infirmary, Captain," I say noting his uniform.

"Colorado Springs?" he asks.

Duh! I think, but instead say, "Yes sir."

"Sarah and Charlie will be here soon," he says.

I can't quite tell if it's a question or not, and I certainly have no idea who Charlie and Sarah are. But I nod figuring anyone he cares enough to mutter about in semi delirium probably cares enough about him to come see him as he arrives back from being a prisoner of war. He seems comforted by my nod and his body relaxes.

"Welcome back sir," I say.

Those deep brown eyes focus on me for a second, and his mouth divides into a smile. I'm grinning too, and I'm about to go back in and make some conversation when I see the ring. Shit. Sarah-wife. So I smile and back out the door.

1992 Washington D.C.

Catherine's POV

I glance at her file one more time. She was the 114 file I poured through, and if I'd read hers first I wouldn't have bothered with any of the rest. She was perfect for the job: valedictorian from high school a year early, amazing GPA at the academy, bachelors and masters in astrophysics in the time it took most people to get a bachelors, and a doctorate in the years that followed. Her military metals proved she was as brave as intelligent. But maybe what I liked most about her had nothing to do with the job. Maybe with Samantha Carter it was the personal note which really had no business in the file at all: Lost her mother at age 14.

When I read that it sort of unburied the unfulfilled part of me I always tried to keep buried. Ernest and I had planned on kids. Just another part of my life destroyed in that accident so long ago. Logically I know that Samantha Carter, a twenty-four-year-old successful women, with the highest IQ I've ever seen committed to print didn't need a mother. But it didn't mean, well, it didn't there wasn't a chance we'd both want that when we finally met. Besides all that-this was my life's work, my father's life work, and now, if another generation was to spend their life upon it-it had to be Samantha.

Sam's POV Washington D.C.

I'm scoping out the pentagon for my job which starts Monday. Outside a woman stops me. She's older and really open and friendly looking.

"Samantha Carter?" she asks.

I nod my head.

"I'm Catherine Langford. I was wondering if I could discus something with you."

This was weird, but I follow her to a bench where we both sit down. She puts a picture of a round wheel with weird drawings in front of me, "My father found this in 1928 in Egypt."

I shake my head, "I'm sorry Miss Langford, but I'm an astrophysics, and a soldier. I know knowing about…"

"Artifacts," she finished. "And call me Catherine, Samantha it's made of a really rare compound, and gives off an EM pulse."

I'm so stunned I can barely for a thought, but I ask, "How old is it?"

"Older than its supposed to be. It's some sort of technology. It has to be. You need to convince the Air Force to restart a program researching it."

"I'm afraid you're overestimating my influence at the Pentagon," I said with a laugh.

Her eyes met mine, and she said, "Oh no, your underestimating your own power. Please, Samantha. I'm not asking for a miracle. Just do what you can. It was my father's life work. It's been my life work, and…"

She didn't finish the sentence but I knew what she meant. I was honored that she thought me worthy of passing the torch to, and I'd be damned if I wouldn't do my best to get that women her funding.

1993 Washington D.C.

Shay'a's POV

The Gou'alds have a chemical which in small doses temporarily makes humans act even more primitive than their natural lowly human state. In large doses the effects are permanent and those effected most often go down one path or another which leads to their destruction. That's why I only gave Jonas Hansen a single drop. There was no reason for the boy to keep acting crazy when he was no longer involved with Sam.

1993 Washington D.C.

Sam's POV

I glance at the clock. Crap. Jonas. I was late once again. I quickly saved my work, shut down my computer, and rushed to the restaurant.

"Sam," he grumbled, "You're late."

"I know, I'm sorry, but you should've seen this simulation. The theory was…"

"Sam," Jonas interrupted looking deep into my eyes, "Is it going to be like this forever?"

"What?" I asked.

"I mean, after we're married is it still going to be like this? Me waiting for you? Someday me and the kids waiting for you?

I thought about my mother's slippers. The ones that didn't fit. I'd always intended to trade in my combat boots for slippers one day. Was today the day?

"I don't know Jonas. When we have kids I might take a leave of absence for a couple years."

"What about me? I'm just supposed to wait until then? We are getting married in three months Sam."

"I was twenty minutes late Jonas. You know what the job is like."

"Sam you are always late. Are you even in this relationship?"

I didn't even know how to respond to that. "Yes, Jonas, that's why I took the ring you offered me." He was being a real ass tonight.

"So when you are married you'll come home at normal hours?" he asked accusatorily.

"Jonas, my job isn't an ends at the same time every night kind of thing." I'd been living two lives scientist and soldier. Could I really do three?

"Damn it Sam!" he said pounding the table. "I want a wife who will make my house a home." Suddenly I got what claustrophobia meant for the first time in my life. The restaurant had an open design but I felt like the walls were closing in on me. I was trapped, cornered, sufercating. "Take care of the kids, make supper, dress up for Air Force balls." He was smothering me with his words. Suddenly a number popped into my head-14,600 breakfasts left. Not ready for the slippers yet.

"Jonas, I'm not ready to give up the work part of me just yet," I fumbled to take the ring off my finger and hand it back to him.

He slapped me-hard-across the face. His hand was coming back for another one. My combat training kicked in and I grabbed that hand and twisted it behind his back. From behind I whispered into his ear, "Jonas Hansen, you will never again lay a finger on me, or anyone else the Air Force hasn't ordered you to, do you hear me?" I asked twisting the hand tighter behind him.

"Yes," he said through clenched teeth, and I walked out of the restaurant. I'm not even sure if I made a conscious decision to go to my lab. I guess of all the places in the world it was the one in which I felt safest, felt the most like I belonged. It's after 7:00 now, so I figure I'll be the only one there. But I'm wrong. Catherine poked her head into the hall when she hears me open the door.

"Samantha," she says in this terrified voice as she rushes toward me. I figure it's the tears so I try to brush them away. But when she reaches me she lightly touches my cheek. When I wince her eyes set in anger.

"Who did this to you Samantha?" she asks sounding madder that I imagined such a gentle person could get.

"Jonas."

"That bastard make a habit of this sort of thing?"

"First and last time," I say displaying my ring less finger.

"Good girl," she says pulling me in for a hug. Now usually I'm the kind of person insulted by things like "good girl," but this time I like it.

"Really Catherine, this isn't a big deal."

She pulls me out to arms length, "Samantha, a man you trusted, a man that you were until tonight planning on spending your life with, hit you hard enough to leave a welt on your cheek. That's a big deal. Now come on let's get some ice on that and talk," she said leading me to the staff room. We had a chat like I hadn't had since my mom died. It ended with, "Your coming home with me honey."

"Oh no Catherine, seriously I'm fine."

"Samantha correct me if I'm wrong, but Jonas has the keys to your apartment."

I nodded, "But he wouldn't do anything."

"Did you think he'd leave a handprint on your face?" I shook my head, "You're staying with me at least until you get the locks changed. No arguments."

It was good to have someone worry about me again.


	7. Chapter 7 Tipping Point

Chapter 7: Tipping Point

Shaya's POV

January 1996Colorado Springs

Jack O'Neill breaks easily, but he doesn't stay broken long. I plan on breaking him once more, in a way he'll be broken for forever. This is by far the riskiest plan I've ever contrived. It involves letting a host I'm in die while I'm still inside. But that isn't what scares me most, for the first time ever, I will be entering a male host.

Charlie is playing catch with some friends at school. The ball rolls over to my feet as I stand at the end of the playground. I pick it up. Charlie runs to get it, and make a motion like I should toss it to him. I motion him closer. He comes close and reaches for the ball. He looks up at me, or rather my former host, for I'm leaving the body by now, with this absolutely innocent look. His eyes are exactly like his fathers-not in coloring-but in depth. Then for one moment I feel the freezing cold air on my body-I mean my real body. Then like a flash I've done it. Entered a ten year old boy.

I don't know if Charlie was different than most of my hosts-if he really screamed louder, or I just listened more. I do know that while you can sometimes ignore a hosts voice, you can never ignore his feelings. He's terrified. Beyond terrified, I've never felt anything like it. The terror is so great I think I'm going to throw up.

_It's ok Charlie, _I tell him.

**What is happening to me?**

_ You are going to be fine Charlie._ But my mind tells the truth by accident.

**Your going to kill me? Why?**

So I give up pretending with Charlie and try to act like a ten year old boy while ignoring the one inside of my mind. I must be doing ok, because everyone seems to love me-him. The whole time Charlie is screaming, pleading, bawling wracking my body with terror and grief and pain. But I smile and play catch.

I come home and hand my backpack to Sarah. She wants to talk, but I get out of it. I might have been able to fool my way through a few games of catch, but it doesn't seem very likely I can fool a mom into thinking I'm her son. I go into Jack's study and unlock his gun. I leave the case open and put the key back so it will look like Jack forgot to lock it. I know that guilt undoes the man more than grief. Then I load it, and hide the ammunition so it will look like he got careless and put the gun away loaded.

Then I hold the gun to Charlie's tiny chest and for a moment I think this plan is a bit too crazy to work. It doesn't help that Charlie's fighting me hard. Normally a host can't do anything about you controlling his body. But little motions, like a gun trigger or the pushing of a button, sometimes they can make that very difficult. He's struggling to pull my hand away. He's fighting for life. My whole body is shaking from the crying Charlie is doing. I've never felt a host cry so forcefully. But his screams come through the sobs loud and clear in my ears.

**Please! Please! I don't understand! Please just put down the gun! Mommy! Daddy! Just put it down. What do you want from me? She's going to kill me! Save me! Please! Help! Daddy! Mommy! !**

Bang! I've never felt a host die before. It's awful stuff. Not just the pain, though a gunshot wound is nothing to mess with. No the worse is this string of consciousness like an explosion in your head. A rapid release of identify begging your mind to absorb it, before-before there is nothing left.

I could barely think, but I knew I had to get out of this body soon. Gou'ald's could not hang out in dead hosts for long. I snake out and hide on the floor. Another place I can't be forever. Jack comes in continuing his son's silent screams aloud, "Nooooooooooooooooooooooo, Charlie," he grabs the boy. But he's smart enough to know there isn't any hope though he keeps begging. "Come on Charlie, please Charlie, Charlie." He's sitting on the floor rocking his dead son and I'm starting to worry I'll have to enter Jack. I'd rather not, not just because of his gender, but because he's smart enough to figure something weird is happening even in his grief.

Just when I was about to slip across the floor Sarah O'Neill enters the room. She falls not really fainting, but more like her legs giving out under her. I waste no time slipping into her.

"Sarah!" Jack is screaming, and I'm a little confused. It was one of those take overs where you come out a little unsure who you are.

"Yeah Jack?" I say. He looks like I'm slapping him with my gentle tone. Then I remember, I'm supposed to be playing the grieving mother. Then I look at Charlie, and it's an easy part to play. "Charlie?" I really sound like I'm expecting him to turn toward me and say, "yeah mom?" and the weird thing is-I kind of am. I'm sobbing too. Sobbing hard, and I know where Charlie got his hard crying from.

"I'm gonna go," Jack's eyes look haunted, "call somebody." He heaves himself off the floor like it's a lot of work. He looks really old right now. When Jack comes back in he sits down next to me (I've got Charlie half on my lap now) and puts his hands around my shoulders. I shrug them away before I remember I'm supposed to be his wife. He doesn't try to touch me again. He just sits there and stares at Charlie without making a sound. Maybe its Sarah O'Neill emotions which are making this hit me so hard. But somehow, I doubt it. I think this has more to do with Charlie.

The police come. I was relieved one was female. I slipped into her. Sarah started screaming. She reached for Jack, but he didn't see her, because he was looking at Charlie. When the police officer I entered finally got to go home I curled up on the floor of her apartment and sobbed and sobbed. Letting a host die while your inside is certainly a dangerous business.

Sarah O'Neill's POV

January 1996 Colorado Springs

Grief is strange. I felt like it wasn't even me. I felt like something else took over in those first moments. I was screaming, and even thought I heard my voice screaming, I didn't feel like the screams were getting out.

I wanted to be near Jack. Needed to be near Jack. But when he reached from me I pushed him away. It is a small chasm which grief has robbed me of the energy to cross. It deepens with every moment.

Jack has that look in his eyes. That look he wears when it comes home from the missions he can't tell me anything about. Then I would hold him, and he would play with Charlie and day by the day the despair would leak out and he would be whole again.

This time isn't like that. The despair isn't going away, it just keeps increasing. This time I can't chase it away, because I'm downing in it too.

God Charlie I miss you.

Jack's POV

January 1996 Colorado Springs

I'm done. So many times disaster has struck me, and my grandfather's words have returned. But not this time. There is no good in a world without Charlie. I am done.

Daniel's POV

January 1996 Chicago

I never should have left Nick. My four years in Oregon were good-college, work, Nick. I was too busy to feel pain or lack. Then at age twenty I find myself done with college. There are no archaeology graduate school programs close. Nick freaked when he found out I was considering staying.

"Daniel you aren't putting your life on hold for me."

So I left the one place that I (sometimes, on a good day) ever felt like I belonged and went to Chicago. I still visit him, but it isn't the same.

Maybe if I'd stayed he'd have talked me out of announcing my insane theory to the world-lord knows he tried anyway.

"Pyramids older that the 4th dynasty! Writing in the first two dynasties! Based on another language! Ridiculous! Daniel its Ancient Egyptian we're talking about! Who do you think they copied from? Didn't you learn anything from my failure? You aiming for a room next door. Rubbish!"

But I'd published it anyway. There it was in black and white and the whole world was laughing at me.

I didn't matter that it happened to be the truth. I would never be believed, and I would never belong.

My grants were gone. I was out of money. I was evicted from my apartment. I had a conference in Boston next week. After that, for the second time in my life, I would be running away from a place which was never quite home.

Catherine's POV

1996 Boston

I'd never wept over a personal file before. Not that I was the picture of rational detachment, look at me and Samantha. But Daniel Jackson's file me cry.

God, I wish I'd known him back them. I wish I'd been there the day his parents had died. I'd have scooped him up and hugged him for days. Then when I'd made sure he was legally mine I'd have taken him to Egypt. He would have healed better there. Though that is a wound you never heal from.

I thought about that as I looked at the file. Perhaps some of the reason I was so passionate about Daniel's past was because it was so much like mine. But that would have been all the better for him. I would have known what a grieving child needed, having been one myself. I shut my eyes at that memory. I couldn't take away Daniel's pain any more than I could my own. His has happened long ago, just as my own had.

God, it would have been nice to have Daniel as a son. It would have been good to have anyone as a son of course, but especially someone like Daniel. He's good. I mean morally good. You can't usually tell that by reading someone government files, but Daniel is so good you actually can. His character is so great it seeps into the black and white facts of his life. He's strong to, unflinching in the face of tragedy. And he's brilliant, God he's brilliant. But he has no clue. Someone really ought to tell him.

That's probably what got him into trouble. When you are single handily brighter than 99% of your colleges combined and you are driven by a moral imperative to tell the truth regardless of the consequences-that's the sort of thing they used to burn people at the stake for. We don't burn people at the stake anymore. Oh no, we're too civilized for that. We just make them homeless and make them give speeches to empty lecture halls while we laugh at them.

I couldn't be there for Sam when she really, really need a mom at age 14. But I was there for her when she needed one a few years back. I'm thinking Daniel Jackson could probably use a mom about the time he leaves that lecture hall after that completely accurate, and completely crazy sounding speech he's giving. I wonder if I should open or close with I'm proud of you.

"Jackson? Are these your parents?"

He barely even looks at the picture. It already knew it was his parents. Smiling and laughing with him between their laps at the age of three.

"Foster parents," he says darkly. I have a feeling the personal would not go over great with him right now, so I dive into the job offer. God, at the very least I'll get him off the street. I scolded myself for being so attached to him already. I didn't even know the man.

"I'm going to go now," he says. My heart clenches. I can't let him go. I can't let him be all alone-not ever again. He really needs this job so I let him know I know how much he does.

"Go where?" I and I have his attention enough to move on, "You've just been evicted from your apartment. You grants have run out. Everything you own are in those two bags." God the urge to buy him something, to cook for him, to take care of this little man child was strong in me right then. But I held back. I didn't want to scare him away before I could help him.  
>Remember, I tell myself, he's so good it leaks into the bare facts of his life, "You want to prove your theories are right? Here is your chance." Those gorgeous blue eyes of his are locked on mine. I hand him the travel plans, secure in the knowledge he will follow them. I'm proud of you is going to have to wait. But I wouldn't make it wait too long.<p>

Jack's POV

1996 Colorado Springs

Cold. Empty. Painful.

The good old Air force comes through again.

Death sounds pretty good.

If you are going to die, you might as well a hero.

Shay'a's POV

1996 Colorado Springs

I had failed. I stood by the fence that marked the beginning of their fortress. I had known this is where they kept the Stargate for each of its moves, Naquada is rare on earth after all. I could feel the slight shaking of the Stargate far beneath me as it activated.

I see them come each day: Catherine, and Jack at least. Daniel doesn't leave enough for regular returns, and Sam is working on something related far away. I know all the Gou'ald will soon be dead. I know that the extinction of my race is due to my failure.

But what I think about the most is Charlie.

I thought I understood death. It is the stopping of movement. But now I know it is a lot more than that. Death is pain. It is fear. It is the permanent loss of consciousness. The loss of personhood. The loss of an individual. The loss of Charlie.

I think about what I did to them, a lot. To all of them. To Catherine's mother, to Catherine, Ernest, Catherine's father, to Jack's father, his grandfather, Jack, to Daniel's grandparents, his parents, Nick, an endless stream of foster parents, Daniel, Sam's mother, Sam, Sam's father, and Charlie.

The Gou'ald deserve to be extent. Any race which contains a creature like me deserves to be wiped from existance. A creature who could kill Charlie does not deserve a species of her own.

Suddenly I realize. They don't have to keep suffering. I can fix it now. If I can get the music box away from Sam's father it will be years before he gets cancer, if ever. If I can get that box of tapes I stole, years ago when I was working on the Stargate progject, into the right hands they can find out what happened to Ernest-who knows the man may even still be alive. If I switch Nick's medicine to something not Gou'ald influenced he'll be sane in a month.

But I wanted to do more than stop hurting. I wanted to heal. I wanted redemption. I wanted forgiveness. Then in the end I wanted last Gou'ald to die by my own hand. That Gou'ald would be me.


	8. Chapter 8 Redemption Part 1

Redemption Part 1

Thank you to those who reviewed they were wonderfully detailed! Just like I like it!

Shay'a's POV

2008 Colorado Springs

Humans break from the outside in, but the heal from the inside out. I'd spent years trying to fix the damage I had done from the outside. I had failed, and failed miserably.

Jack was capable of hatred- crippling hatred, because of the things I had done to him. Daniel lived with crippling insecurity-never feeling as if he belonged, as if he was useful. He had been hurt by so many good people, and met so few bad that he trusted everyone-but himself. Sam had given up any semblance of having a personal life, driven desperately toward defining herself in the duel lives she had chosen to live. Catherine at least-though she had suffered longer than the others-with the return of Ernest and the way she loved Sam and Daniel had healed herself. Before she died.

Perhaps they had needed their scars. Perhaps in the end the scars I left on them were the only things which allowed them to eliminate the Gou'ald. But now, now that they had at long last vanquished the last of the Gou'ald, now they deserved freedom. Freedom from the torment I had forced them to endure.

Wounds which had formed from the inside out would need to be healed from the inside out.

For the second time in my long life I took a male host.

**What the hell, snake head! GET OUT OF ME!**

Jack's words wracked through my head more powerfully than any hosts had before. Emotions of course were commonly shared from host to symbiotic, but these too were extreamly strong-terror, furry, and an acute wave of nausea.

I didn't mean to think anything, I can usually keep my host from sharing my thoughts when I want, but I thought:

_You scream just like Charlie._

**What the hell do you know about Charlie?**

_Jack, I need to ask your forgiveness_

**No.**

_I haven't told you what I want to be forgiven for_

**I'm not planning on forgiving any snakeheads.**

_That is exactly what I mean. You shouldn't be able to hate like that._

**I have my reasons.**

_You father, your grandfather, _I flashed the faces of a good many of his service buddies I couldn't remember the names of

**You're telling me you control the weather, heart attacks, and wars? Your god complex has reached a whole new level.**

_No, I'm telling you I weakened some masts on a ship, used a device which causes heart attacks and shot a few bullets._

Anger wracked my body so hard for a long moment I was capable of nothing, not even thought, not even breath.

**I don't forgive murders.**

I didn't mean to bring up Charlie so soon. But he was what I thought of every time I heard the world murder. As soon as his picture came to my mind I felt his range growing.

**What the hell did you do to my son, snakehead?**

_My name is Shay'a_

**I don't give a damn about your name, snakehead. What did you do to my son?**

_I was inside of him._ Then I felt the worse repulsion I'd ever felt. It wasn't even that I'd killed his son. It was that I had possessed his body. I was that offensive to him. My very being. Who I was.

_I held the gun and shot him. I thought his last thoughts. I felt his last feelings._

**STOP! You don't get to do that. He isn't yours. You don't get to claim him. You killed him. Basted!**

I started my confessional. I don't know quite why I did it. Perhaps it was selfish as Jack insisted as he pleaded for me to stop. But I thought it was important. I told him about the artifacts I had made fall, the box which caused cancer when you spent a lot of time in the same room as it, the medicine which unhinged Hansen (more permanently than I meant to), the other which drove Nick insane, the electrodes which simulated a heart attack. I wanted him to know. I needed some to know it was my fault. I paused between each confession breathless waiting for his hatred to abate before the next one. No host had ever affected me like this. I thought he was going to kill me with the sheer force of his emotion three times during the tale. When I confessed to killing Daniel's Parents, Sam's mother, and the attempted murder of Jacob. I told none of these things in any significant detail. His hatred wouldn't let me.

**You said you made me hate. You said you wanted to fix me. This wouldn't do it. This shit you did makes me hate you more.**

_I want you to hate me. I want you to hate what I am. Then when I'm gone Jack. When you watch me die. When we are all gone. I want that to be the last time you ever hate._

**I will hate you long after I kill you with my own hands.**

_That's almost better then killing myself Jack. But being added to the list of gods killed by the great Jack O'Neill is too great an honor for me. You have to rest now Jack. You have to wait for tomorrow._

**There's more Shay'a?**

I jumped at the use of my name, and he laughed. Jack O'Neill's laughter feels really good from the inside.

_No more confessions Jack. But there will be more._

**What?**

_We have some people to talk to._

**I'll be damned if you are going to use my hijacked body to hurt anyone.**

_No Jack. I will hurt no more. The time has come to heal._

**You people aren't good at that, unless you've got some ancient technology attached to your hand.**

_I have one of those you know, but it doesn't fix the kind of wounds I've made._

**I don't know, might have helped some of those people you tried to murder.**

I was almost asleep when he said quietly.

**Tell me what Charlie screamed.**

So I told him everything. Every detail from the moment Charlie's ball rolled toward me until the moment I was in the police officer curled in a ball. There are left over of every host you enter. More for the ones filled you with emotions. There was a great chunk of Charlie left in me. The chunk of him his mind begged me to absorb upon his death. So for a little bit there, we were all grieving together Jack, Charlie, Sarah, and I, or at least the parts of Charlie and Sarah left me.

**This is what the To'kra meant.**

_What? Who?_

**Crap.**

_To'kra?_

Then he told me words by accident: **Symbiosis. Blended.** Words attached to emotions and images I only half understood.

_Tell me about the To'kra._

His mind was flat, blank for so long I started to worry he'd slipped into a coma.

**Sorry lady, this mind has been hacked a lot. I'm good at not thinking**

Then his mind went flat again.

I was almost asleep again when he said, **When will I have my body back?**

_When I'm done._

I meant for that to be all, but it's really hard to lie to someone who is in your head, particularly a lie of omission. An image of Daniel came to mind.

**If you hurt Daniel you cannot imagine the horrible things I'll do to you. **Then he started using pictures to show me exactly what the horrible things were.

But an image of Sam flashed through my mind. Oh Jack had been mad several times since I took over his body, but this was a kind of anger which literally caused me to lose the ability to see.

**YOU. WILL. NOT. TOUCH. SAM.**

The words were firm and fierce, but that wasn't what surprised me the most. There was something more powerful. More powerful than anything I'd ever felt, hate, anger, fear. It was something I'd never felt before. It was good. But no host had ever made me feel as much as Jack did before.

_What is this? Can you make it last forever?_

He tried not to tell me, but he did. **Love.**

_Love is good._

**Love is not yours snakehead. It's a human emotion.**

Then he formed an image of a man who was linked to the name Jacob Carter.

**Exception.** He grumbled.

_You love Sam._

**You will stay away from Sam.**

Then a picture formed. It formed part by his mind and part by mine. Jack and Sam were together happy. There were three children there, and one of them was Charlie.

**Stop it.** I didn't know why the picture was causing him pain. But I knew it was. Intense pain. **Let's get this straight, you don't get to talk about Sam, and you sure as hell don't get to talk about Charlie.**

_I liked that picture Jack. _

He didn't like my saying so, but it was only a feeling, no thought.

_Humans aren't like Unas, Jack. I didn't know-humans aren't like Unas._ There was a lot more I said about uniqueness and equality, but it wasn't in words.

**Unas are people too.** He showed me Skakaa. Who he mistrusted (hadn't I caused that?), but respected.

_I thought only Gou'alds were people._

**You snakeheads have a problem with egos.**

He fell asleep, and I spent a bit of time thinking about how the new information changed my plans. Love.

Jack tries desperately to talk me out of a shower the next morning.

**Oh for crying out loud can't a guy have any privacy?**

_Your modest amuses me._

**I'm more worried about what might arouse you.**

He finally gives in. I think it is mostly because he knows I'm dreading it almost as much as he is. Being inside of a male body is still weird for me. Not that whether or not Jack gives in is of any importance to me. But I think I'll be hearing enough of his screaming in his brain today without getting started this early.

Jack started protesting the minute I sat down in his truck, and they got louder the closer we got to the base. By the time we turned the corner that made it clear we were heading to Sam's lab he was in a state of panic more intense even than Sarah O'Neill's after her son died.

"Hey sir," Sam says with a smile. I wonder if she loved him to.

**Don't ask her that.**

_God Jack, I wasn't going to ask her that. _But I didn't need to her. Her eyes were telling me.

"Hi Sam," I say.

**Carter, damn it, I call her Carter.**

_Not today you don't, Jack._

"Whatcha doing?" I ask.

**At least now you sound like me.**

"Bored sir?" she asks laughing.

**I do not get bored.**

"Yeah, I want a story," I say.

"A story?" she said with a raised eyebrow.

**Just like Teal'c.**

"Yeah, what was it like to have Jolinar inside of you." I say.

Sam's eyebrows both shoot up this time. But it was Jack's reaction which surprised me. A quick flash of painful images which I struggled to give meaning to. Then I had it.

"I was just trying to remember the whole thing with Cain. It's still a little fuzzy for me," I say scratching the back of my neck like Jack does when he's nervous.

**Cheating. You are so cheating. Don't give her anything Carter.**

Sam's eyes softened. If I'd been doubting her love before that would have ended it for me.

"Nightmares sir?" she asked.

I nodded.

**Don't tell her that.**

_You mean it's true?_

**Hell yeah, he took over my body and then…**

He tried to stop, but I got enough images of Ba'al's torture to know what and then. Ba'al did this to him.

**Shit, your boyfriend? Seriously? You and that snakehead ass?**

I used to be quite good at hiding information from my host, but Jack seemed to access my brain almost as easily as I accessed his.

"To be honest sir," Sam was beginning, "I don't think either of us had what my dad would

**Lalalalalalalalalalalala. No classified information for the snakehead. Lalalala. **_I can_

call a true blending. True blending the way my dad describes it is something more personal.

_still hear her Jack. _**Yoyo? **_What? _**If you want her to believe it's me play with that yoyo on the **

something profound and real. It is a sharing of a body, and two minds."

**shelf. Besides, I'm bored.**_ I thought you didn't get bored._** I lied.**

Sam grins at me as I use Jack's motor memory to fiddle with the yoyo.

"When a real blending occurs they dream together."

A quick flash in our mind of the dream we'd formed together-Sam, Jack, Charlie, and the two kids.

"Plan together."

Flash of the yoyo.

"Love together. I don't know, maybe a real blending wouldn't be the worse thing. It might even be

**Oh hell no. **_I'm a girl._** You're still not getting my Sam.**_ Your Sam? _**Sam they're Gou'ald's they're**

Good."

**bad.**

"Sir, are you alright?" she asked.

"I'm not your CO anymore Sam, call me Jack." I replied.

**Pushing it Shay'a, pushing it.**

"You are still a general," she says

"I'm still Jack," I proclaimed.

**No you're not.**

"Sir," she giggled.

**No giggling Colonel.**

"Would you like to go to dinner?" I asked.

**Over the line!**

"Like a team night?" she asked tentatively.

**Say yes.**

_Shut up Jack._

"No, like a courting ritual?" I reply.

"A courting ritual, sir?" and Samantha Carter was looking at me like I was an alien. Which was bad, considering I was.

_Jack help me._

**You told me to shut up.**

_Help me what would you call it?_

**Sam, me, and some candles…I guess I'd call that heaven.**

"You, me, and some candles," I said.

**You weren't supposed to say that aloud.**

"A date, Sir?" she asks trying to keep her voice even, but not managing to keep the excitement from leaking out.

"A date, Sam."

Those gorgeous blue eyes locked on mine, and Jack's heart jumps within me. "I'd like that Jack," she says and her face blooms into his huge grin just because she got to say his name aloud.

"Tomorrow night?" I ask.

**Now, will you still be residing in my body at this time?**

_No, Jack, you'll be doing this on your own._

"Tomorrow night," she says.

"And Samantha," I say turning to her, "You don't have to work so hard. You're good enough already."

**Way better than good enough.**

"Way better than good enough."

"Thank you, sir…Jack," she said and she looked like she didn't quite know what to say.

**I can't believe you did that.**

_Oh yes you can Jack. But it didn't quite go how I wanted it to. It was supposed to be all about making her believe she's good enough._

**God, I'm glad the whole conversation wasn't about that.**

_I did learn a little about the Tok'ra._

**Feeling pretty good about yourself?**

_Yes._

**Courting ritual.** We laughed together, and it felt even better than Jack's laugh alone.

_This is kind of_

**Fun.**

_Yeah._

**I still hate you.**

_I know. By the way you should have Sam cook for you sometime._

**She can cook?**

_Oh, yeah, Jack, she can cook._

**Why the hell she's been keeping that a secret?**

_Could have something to do with not wanting to insult your beer soaked stakes. _But he reads my thoughts, in an instant he knows what cooking means to Sam. That she won't cook for a man until…until she's really ready to cook for a man.

**So we're heading to Danny boy's lab.**

_Yep._

**You do know I don't want to ask HIM out on a date right?**

_Yes Jack._

**Just checking.**

_Help me out Jack. How will I convince Daniel he belongs._

**He knows that.**

I'm not even sure what I transported to him this time. It could have been a thought, a feeling, a picture, I'm not sure.

**Shit I thought he knew. Tell him. I don't know. Tell them he's my family.**

_Maybe I should invite him to a team night-tomorrow._ Jack's sense of humor was rubbing off on me.

**Very funny, Shay'a.**

_I planned what I was going to say to Daniel, but it's too mushy for you._

**You might have to go mushy on this one. If not mushy worked he'd know how important he is**

_To the universe_

**To me.**

_This won't be easy._

**Kind of glad it's you and not me.**

"Daniel,"

"Jack."

"Whatcha working on?"

"A translation of the artifact we found on P3X-985. It's in a language which is something between

**God, what am I gonna do for our date. Beer stake is out. It should decently involve cake **

Ancient and Gou'ald. Possibly a pigeon language of some sort. A meshing of two things which are

**though, everything is better with cake.**_ Sam doesn't like cake._** Yeah, what is with the jello?**_ It's _

mutually exclusive. Jack what the hell is wrong with you?" "What do you mean Daniel?"

_to avoid thinking about the life she could have had. _**The life she is going to have?**_ I hope so._

"You just let me keep talking. You didn't stop and demand I summarize," Daniel says.

**Sorry I should have made you impatient.**

"What you were saying is important." Looking at Daniel through Jack's eyes made me privy to a lot of things about Daniel I didn't know. I mean I knew the guy was great, but I didn't know how great.

**Bit abrupt there Shay'a?**

"Alien virus," Daniel said studying me through his glasses, "My guess is alien virus."

**Atta boy Daniel! Get her!**

"No alien virus, Daniel. Just me, Jack."

By accident Jack thought of something he said along time ago to Daniel. **I may have, might have, uh, grown to admire you a little, I think.** But as that memory came (one I didn't completely understand) I felt what he felt.

_More than a little._

**You try.**

"Daniel, you have saved the world multiple times."

**Teal'c knows.**

"You'd have to ask Teal'c for the total, but I don't know…a lot. What you say is important."

"Are you dying Jack?" he asked half concerned half joking.

"No, Daniel, just wanted you to know that your contributions to this team, are really important. And that…you're an amazing man."

Those baby blue eyes focused on me-full of pain. I was feeling that wonderful feeling of love again, and it definitely wasn't coming from Jack.

**Shit, everyone falls for Danny boy. Let's get a couple things straight. He's a human, you're a Gou'ald. And did ya have ta fall for him in my body? That's creepy. And you aren't breathing any of that Gou'ald queen mind control crap on him. **

I hadn't known Daniel was raped by Hathor. It made my heart ache.

_ Jack, I hate that she did that from him._

**I know.**

_This new feeling for Daniel changes nothing Jack. Make up for my mistakes, die. That's the plan._

"Seriously Jack, what is going on?" Daniel says.

"I just think, sometimes Daniel, I don't say things that need to be said. I mean for ten years Daniel you and I were…"

**Buddies, buddies is a good non-sexual word.**

"Buddies. Family. You know SG-1 is family, and Daniel-you belong."

He looked at me, "You're acting really weird Jack."

"I know, but I just wanted you to know-you belong."

**You will stop drooling over him right now and turn around. Seriously, or keep going, and he'll be having the Tok'ra remove you in a couple hours. Actually either way is fine with me.**

Just then a few marines walked by the door. "Yep, the general finally got up the guts to ask her …" then they noticed our presence and scurried away.

Daniel laughed, "That is what this was about Jack? You and Sam are dating, and you wanted to make sure I was ok with it?"

**Say yes.**

_Kinda undoes the whole conversation doesn't it?_

**Yeah, that is the point. Undo the Danny thinks I'm crazy.**

"I'm fine with it Jack," and he slaps me on the back.

"Ok, umm team night day after tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Jack. Want me to bring the steaks?"

"No, I think Sam should cook," I said. Jack was laughing so hard it hurt to keep it in.

"Daniel, you are my family, this doesn't change that," I add.

**Good save.**

"God your sappy today Jack."

** Never mind.**

I walked out of the room. _Shit this was supposed to be two conversations and done. But…who am I kidding I've been trying to undo it for a decade._

**A decade.**

_A couple thousand years of screwing up. Jack, I'm going to go now._

** So not going through the stargate Shay'a.**

_ Jack, the Tok'ra aren't Gou'ald are they?_

He answered with a string of pictures which were pretty inconclusive, but which had lost the sharp edge of hate which Jack lived his life under.

_I promised myself a long time ago I would finish off the last Gou'ald. Just wanted to know if that was still possible._

** What are you talking about Shay'a?**

_Jack you didn't think I was stupid enough to think I could take over the body of an Air Force General and get away with it did you?_

I showed him my planned death.

**Shay'a I told you love is a human emotion. But Tok'ra feel it too. Tok'ra and humans and Unas, but not Gou'alds.**

_Jack, I killed Charlie._

Then the hatred was back. I hoped it wasn't back forever. I just needed if for long enough to leave his body and die on the floor.

"Holly crap, "Jack is that a Gou'ald?" Crap, Daniel's voice

"I…I don't know," Jack stammers snatching me between his fingers.

"It came out of you?" Daniel asks and Jack nods. Jack looks dizzy, most hosts are dizzy when we first leave them.

_Sorry Jack._

But I'm not in Jack anymore, so he doesn't answer. He wouldn't be answering me again.

"Is it Tok'ra?" Daniel asks.

"I don't know what she is Daniel. But she isn't dying today," Jack says it right to my face, "You hear me Shay'a you don't get to die today." _Please Jack, let me die._ But he can't hear me.

"So back there," Daniel says pointing to his ownlab, "I wasn't too far off with the alien virus?"

"No," Jack says.

"Let's get you the infirmary," then Daniel looks a little sheepish, "How long has it been in you Jack?"

"Since last night," he replies.

"When exactly did you ask Sam out?"

_Oh shit._

"Just walk Daniel, just walk," Jack says.


	9. Chapter 9 Redemption Part 2

Redemption Part: Two

berlin88 I want to thank you for your reviews. You have messaging disabled so I can't send you a message, but your comments always challenge me to think and improve. Thanks. About your question on why Sam couldn't sense Shay'a in Jack-remember Jack has been blended with Canon at this point in his life. I'd be weird if she _didn't _sense naquada in his blood. At least I'm assuming former hosts can't tell the difference between former and current hosts. I could be wrong, but I'm assuming it's the naquada that the former host reacts to. Thank you to all my other reviewers, I've gotten back to all those who don't have messaging disabled. I truly appreciate reviews!

Jack's POV

2008 SGC Infirmary

Sort of ironic, that I, Jack O'Neill, a man who can't even stand your average Tok'ra is pleading for the life of this-this I don't know what to call her. More ironic considering the fact she's the reason I'm in the infirmary, and is the reason my son is dead. But here's the truth (don't tell anyone) I like Shay'a. I mean she's funny and bright, and ok she killed a lot of people. But so have I. I mean that's war right? You take out the enemy no matter what.

Yes, her war was shockingly civilian, but I not saying I wouldn't have done the same thing in her place. I mean we killed Hathor's kids right?

Carter has given me a lot of lectures about how time travel puts you at risk for disrupting the space time whatchacall it. But I don't buy it. I don't see how going back in time makes you more important. Yes, you can change the whole future of the world, but that's true of anyone on the planet right now even though they haven't gone back in time. I don't think going back in time makes you more important, although it might make you more powerful if it comes with extra knowledge. The right thing is the right thing whether or not you've traveled back in time to do it.

Anyway there are some who want to kill her, others who want to put her in stasis (cause 12,000 years just isn't enough), and some want to hand her over to the Tok'ra and make her there problem. I find her profoundly untok'ralike, and that's actually one of the things I like about her. Also, I don't know, Shay'a seems to belong to earth.

"What are we supposed to do with her?" an imposing government official asked. I love that I actually have a say in it this time. There are some benefits to being head of Home world Security.

"Find her a willing host," I offered. It seemed to me the only decent thing to do.

"Are you volunteering?" he asked.

I consider that. I mean I seriously consider that. I told you I liked Shay'a. Then I remember her crush on Daniel. I don't want to be feeling a wave of love every time I see my best friend. That could get awkward. Especially if he fell of Shay'a—Yuck! "Ummm, no." God! Having two people in one body makes things complicated. Plus Shay'a is Ba'al's ex-boyfriend, a murder, and a Gou'ald-sort of.

I don't know, perhaps I'm crazy. I mean we have spent the last ten years ridding the universe of Gou'ald, and now I'm preparing to unleash a queen on the universe? But I don't know, if there could be a good Gou'ald, we can't let their species go extinct. I guess Daniel's finally gotten into my brain.

Daniel's POV

2008 SGC

So I'm supposed to be the great advocate for understanding of other races. I don't give a shit. It's a Gou'ald. A Gou'ald who infested the body of my friend. I can't BELIEVE Jack is begging for its life. If I didn't see the thing swimming around the tank in the infirmary myself I would assume it'd pulled a Kawalsky trick on us and was still in him.

I really should have figured out Jack had a Gou'ald in him. I supposed I was thrown off by the fact Jack hasn't been off world in months, and if you don't count peaceful missions years. It never occurred to me the Head of Homeword Security could get overtaken by the enemy we believed dead on our own planet. Nothing is safe anymore.

I still should have known. I mean that conversation was bizarre, but I thought it was because he'd asked Sam out.

Shit! Sam!

I'm breathless by the time I reach her office so I catch by breath before I walk in, "Hey Sam," I say surprised by how normal I sound.

"Hey Daniel," she says with a grin. She looks so happy I consider turning tale and running. But that would make it really awkward for Sam later on.

"Sam we need to talk about Jack."

Her eyes searched mine, "He told you?"

"Yeah."

"Look Daniel I know this changes the team dynamic. Well, not exactly the team dynamic, we haven't been a team in a while, but…"

"Sam," I stop her. I have to end this before she gets more embarrassed, "I'm ok with that. It would be a great thing."

Her face feel and she sat down, "Would be?" she barely whispers.

"Sam.."

"It's ok Daniel. I'm fine, a little annoyed Jack sent you to tell me he's chickening out."

"Sam, Jack wasn't exactly himself when he asked you out." Her eyes meet mine, and they are laced with panic. "There was a Gou'ald involved," I add.

She's moving toward the door as she talks, "Oh my God, Jack has a Gou'ald in him? Where is he? Have we gotten a hold of the Tok'ra?"

"Sam, the Gou'ald came out on its own. It's swimming around a tank in the infirmary right now."

"Jack's ok?"

"Yeah, he's fine."

The panic leaves her face and is replaced by furry, "Why isn't it dead." She glares at me, "You saved it?"

"Hell no," I say before I can stop myself. "Umm, Jack saved it."

"Jack?" she says in disbelief.

"Yeah, I was pretty surprised too. Apparently he bonded with her."

Sam was laughing that way she has. Silently with almost all of the laughter in the eyes.

"It's a female Gou'ald?" she asks.

"A queen." I confirm. Sam is loving this. "Look Sam, about what he talked to you about…"

Suddenly Sam isn't enjoying this story so much, "A Gou'ald queen asked me on a date." Now I'm laughing. Her face grows serious, "I should go see Jack."

I grab her shoulders and look into her eyes for a serious moment, "Sorry Sam," I say before I hug her.

Sam POV

2008 SGC Infirmary

!

We waited a decade. Then he finally asked me out, and it's ripped from my fingers.

Ever since he asked me I've been thinking. I've been thinking about the Gou'adless universe (well, I was wrong about that). I've been thinking about the backlog of technology begging to be researched. I've been thinking about my Mom's slippers. I think I'm ready to hang up my combat boots, next to Jack's of course, and put on some slippers. 9,125 breakfasts-God I hope there we get more breakfast's together than that. Then I remember that I will be making exactly 0 breakfasts for Jack O'Neill. Because it wasn't him who asked me out. It was an alien who took over his body. And I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, and not for the first time today.

Serves me right for planning my whole life based on one invite to dinner.

"J…Sir, you alright?" I said as I finally enter Jack's room. I'm finding it even harder to breath now that he is actually in front of me.

"Yeah, I don't know why Lam insists on keeping me here," his eyes are searching mine to see how much I know.

"Well, being taken over by an Gou'ald is a two day mandatory stay in the infirmary if I remember right," I say more feeling seeping into my voice than I intended to.

Those deep brown eyes catch mine and hold them as I try to look away, "Got to be out by tomorrow night, though," he says

God he was so sweet. Prepared to go through with it anyway. I don't want him that way though. "Sir, you don't have to do that. I mean it was really a Gou'ald queen who asked me."

"She used my feelings, my words," he said his eyes still trapping mine. Forcing me to look into those chocolate deeps which made my heart soar.

"Courtship ritual, Sir?"

"Well not those words," he said with a grin.

"God Sir, I should have known. Courtship ritual? I'm sorry, Jack."

"Sokay, Carter."

"Jack, really I'm sorry I didn't drag you to the infirmary."

"No harm done Carter, so tomorrow…"

I shut my eyes and shook my head, "Jack really it's nice of you to offer, but let's just forget the whole thing."

"No," he says.

I sighed. I really didn't want to do the whole honest to a fault thing. But Jack left me no choice, "Sir, I really can't do this casual thing. We've known each other too long, and well," I look right into his eyes, "It has to be all or nothing with you."

He grins, "All sounds good to me."

"Jack, I can't do this if it's going to be a lie."

"Carter, I taught her what love was. She felt it every time I thought of you. She felt my emotions, she heard my thoughts-that's why she asked you."

I was really confused and knocked off balance by the word, "love" he'd thrown in, "Sir," I said tentatively, "the Gou'ald?"

"I don't like calling her that, Carter. I don't know what she is. Not Tok'ra, at least not Tok'ra born of Egeria. But the blending, it was a real blending Carter."

I sat down on the bed next to him. This made him intake his breath sharply and I stopped doubting his words-even love. His voice was different, softer, as he continued, "She couldn't hide her thoughts from me. We talked constantly, even when she was talking to someone else. I affected her-if I got really mad I made her sick or blind. If we disagreed she tried to convince me instead of just ignoring me and doing what I wanted. We…we were partner's Sam. It wasn't like with Canon, and he WAS Tok'ra. And she left," he rubbed her forehead, "she left a lot of her memories behind."

My fingers were to his temples gently massaging the way that I'd learned to massage my own head after Jolinar before I could stop myself. "Why sir?"

"This time I'm saying the truth when I say, 'I'm Jack.'"

I smile up at him, "Why did she leave her memories behind, Jack?" his name tasted good.

"Probably, because she planned on killing herself," he closed his eyes for a second, "She gave me everything she had left of Charlie." He looks away, "I couldn't let her die Sam."

I let the silence continue, hoping he'll go on.

"Sam, there is a lot of reason I couldn't kill her," His eyes are still closed, I can tell my temple massage is helping.

Then a horrible thought occurs to me, "She killed Charlie," I guess. I don't know how she did it, but from the way he was talking I was sure. I'm heading for the tank, but he grabs my hand. It's not like I couldn't get away and kill the murdering snake. But Jack O'Neill is holding my hand. I feel a blush coming up to my cheeks, and a smile coming to my lips. I look at Jack's eyes which were laughing.

"Got you, Carter," he says.

"Yes, sir," I said breathless and enthralled. His eyes remained locked on mine for a long time, a really long time.

"Carter, I don't want you to kill her," he finally says.

"Her," I repeat. Jack grins at the twinge of jealousy I tried to keep out of my voice.

"Don't worry Sam, I didn't fall for Shay'a. Besides, she has a thing for our own Daniel Jackson."

"The Gou'ald queen likes Daniel?" I giggle. Then suddenly I don't find the Gou'ald queen thing funny, "Yeah, about that…"

"She'd be a lot bigger if she was spawning, Sam," but he sees I'm not relaxing, "I know it's a risk. But I don't think she'd hurt us, anymore." I raise my eyebrows, "It may not have been long she was in me, but it turns out to be a long story partly because of what's in here," he said tapping his forehead.

"Carter, I've got to tell you what she did," he shifted over on the bed, and patted it. I sat down on the edge facing him, "Sam, your mother…" and he told me everything. Holding my hands at the part that were hardest for me…or him.

"Look, Sam it sounds crazy, but I trust her."

"You heard all of her thoughts?" I asked.

He nodded, "It was weird…good weird though. She's funny, actually her sense of humor is a lot like mine. You'd like her Sam, well, actually you did like her. Accepted her invitation to a date," He laughs at his own joke before growing serious again, "Sam, she was a soldier. We killed her entire race. If I was sent back in time, I'd pick off a few Gou'ald."

I know some of it is crap. He may even really like Shay'a. But he hasn't forgotten what she did.

"Charlie?" I say gently.

His pain filled eyes shift away from mine, "Charlie was the one who changed her. He taught her humans were…people like the Gou'ald."

"I'm so sorry Jack," I say placing my hand on his knee. His eyes suddenly dilate. This makes my stomach curl in anticipation. I sit there for a few seconds, before I lift my hand away. Wow things have changed since a Gou'ald queen asked me to partake in a courting ritual.

He coughs breaking eye contact as soon as my hand leaves his knee. "Sam, I considered volunteering to be her host." Shit that would make life more complicated. I really didn't want Jack to be a permanent host to a Gou'ald-a female Gou'ald queen in love with Daniel. I rubbed my own temples, he was giving me a headache.

He smiled, "That's the main reason I said no Sam."

"How do you read my mind?" I asked.

"You think really loudly, Samantha," he said with a grin. I jumped at hearing my full name, it had been a few years. "Sorry, you don't want me to call you that," he says quickly.

I shake my head, "No, you're allowed Jack. Not many ever get my permission, but you have it now."

"Who else is in the privileged group?" I wouldn't answer that question from anyone but Jack.

"Dad, Catherine…Mom."

He brushes a hair from my face and both of our breath's catch before he continues, "Pretty heady group, are you sure I'm in?" I let my eyes tell him what I think of that. "So tomorrow night Samantha?" he asks, his voice lingering over my name.

"Well," I said letting my eyes laugh, "since you finally asked."

His finger urges me closer, "If it weren't for the cameras, Samantha, you'd be being kissed right now. Just wanted you to know that."

"No cameras tomorrow night hmmm?"

"Definitely not Samantha, definitely not."

Jack's POV

SGC Infirmary

Daniel walks in and I grin at him, "Hey buddy!"

He does that long eye shut and self hug thing. Shit, Shay'a called him buddy.

"Uhh, Daniel, she called you that on my suggestion."

"You were cooperating with the Gou'ald?" he said glaring at Shay'a in the tank. Damn it, we should have made sure she wasn't visible to my visitors. Poor planning Dr. Lam, poor planning. "Daniel I really thought you knew how important you were."

He holds up his hand, "Jack stop, just stop ok. Let's forget what the Gou'ald made you say. It only makes it worse to pretend you said it."

I captured those crystal blue eyes in mine, "Daniel, This is me being serious. I didn't think I had to say it. I was so sure you knew, Daniel. You have to know how amazing you are."

"Amazing, Jack?" he said sarcastically. As he says this, a bit of borrowed feeling flows over me. Shit, there was something left over of Shay'a's feelings for Daniel. So don't need this now.

"How many languages do you speak? How many people have you saved? How many planets, Daniel! How many times have you saved earth? How many times have you saved me from screwing up majorly? How many times have you just plain saved me?"

He's just glaring at me. Haven't made an impression yet. "I wish I could talk to you like Shay'a and I talked. I'd be so much easier, but I'm stuck with words so listen. Daniel when you were ascended the linguistic program screeched to a halt. Our team-I mean Jonas was a good guy, but he so wasn't you Daniel. You're my best friend, my moral compass, and my family Daniel. You belong here."

"Sure that thing isn't still in you?" he's trying to make it come off like a joke with a laugh. But the laugh is as strained as the voice.

"Daniel I'm serious. I know you've always felt like an outsider, but I haven't thought of you as one since you saved my life-the first time."

He grins, but when he tries to talk his voice still sounds strange, "Thanks Jack."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you that a long time ago. I should have seen that you needed it. According to Shay'a if it wasn't for her I'd be quite comfortable talking about my feelings." Shit!

"Jack how long was that thing in you?"

"Since yesterday."

Daniel laughs, "Jack I hate to tell you, but you couldn't talk about your feelings before yesterday."

Ok, it's not like this is a mission briefing he was going to skip reading anyway, "Ah, Daniel, I guess there are a few things I need to tell you about what Shay'a did before she entered me."

After I told him everything (save the queen's crush on him, considering those feelings hadn't quite left I wasn't discussing them) we sat silently for a while. The furry washing over Daniel in waves. Then his eyes softened and focused on me again. "Umm Jack, I told Sam about you having a Gou'ald in you when you asked her out."

Well, that explains it then, "Uh, thanks Daniel. I'm glad you were looking out for Sam, but uh, we've sorted that all out."

"Yeah?" he says.

"Are all archaeologists this nosey?" I ask.

"We prefer the word curious," he retorts.

"Well Daniel, Sam and I will be keeping the date Shay'a iniciated."

"Good, AND…."

"And what Daniel?"

"And I mean, how do you feel about this?"

"Good."

"I mean it isn't just because of the Gou'ald is it?"

I glance back at Shay'a's cage, "Yeah, Daniel it is definitely, just because of the Gou'ald, and I hope she can hear me when I thank her."

Suddenly the memory of Shay'a's love for Daniel came so strong a flush covered my face.

"What was that Jack?"

"Nothing Daniel."

"Your blushing over Sam? That's so cute."

"Shut up Daniel," I say relieved that he is so wrong, about the reason for my blush.

"She's a queen right Jack?" Daniel asks staring at her.

"Yeah," I say hoping he either won't say anything mean or that Gou'ald's out of bodies can't speak English.

"Little risky isn't it Jack? We just got rid of the Gou'ald and you want to keep one of the very few ones who can reproduce around."

"She's not bad, Daniel, you can't really call her Gou'ald."

"Then you've had really shitty luck with Tok'ra who can't follow the 'don't take over your host completely' rule."

"She's not exactly Tok'ra either, Daniel. And she only took me over, because she was trying to fix me. She wanted to make me stop hating."

"She wanted to manipulate you, again."

"Daniel, we shared everything. Our thoughts, our feelings, our dreams. She's good."

He bangs his hand on the table, "Dammit Jack she's a Gou'ald who killed my parents and your son. How could you call her good?" Daniels gone, and I can tell by looking at Shay'a that she is perfectly capable of hearing English when not in a human. Crap.


	10. Chapter 10 Desperate Measures

Desperate Measures

Shay'a's POV

2008 SGC Infirmary

One week after leaving Jack

I knew love was a powerful emotion. I'd known that from the moment Jack let me feel it for the first time. But I thought it was good. I mean it was good then. To hear Daniel's voice, to see his face, to even form an image of him in my mind could cause more happiness than I'd ever felt-warm tingles radiating through all my nerves.

But now, after a week, I'm learning that love isn't always a good emotion. It is also this ache you feel when you are apart from the one you love. An ache which increases in intensity at each thought of him, like a toothache you suck air through. Since Jack left the infirmary five days ago, I haven't seen Daniel even once.

Today I see him again. As much as I've been longing for the sight as soon as I see him I wish he hadn't. He's drenched in his own blood, and from the way he looks I know something heavy has fallen on him. The doctors cries are muffled by the glass and the water, but I catch enough of what they are saying to know that if I don't do something fast my love is going to die.

I suppose they thought the glass was Gou'ald proof. I thought so myself. But the tank was designed to temporarily sustain the life of a larva Gou'ald out of a Jaffa's pouch. It was not designed with an adult queen in mind, certainly not an adult queen who was in love.

I smashed through the glass and onto the floor. I started squirming toward Daniel inch by inch. Jack picks me up, "You'd better give me my friend back Shay'a," he says as he places me on the bed next to Daniel. Jack closes his eyes as I enter Daniel. He is still repulsed by what I am, but he trusts me.

**What?** Daniel's voice asks weekly.

_Daniel I'm Shay'a, you're going to be alright._

Waves of terror shooting through us.

_I'll leave as soon as you're better._

My own worry overwhelmed us both then.

**You're worried about me?**

_Daniel, there is a lot of healing to do. I'll put you in control of the body, but try not to move._ It was the first time I had been inside of a body I was not in control of. It is a helpless desperate feeling, it is the feeling I have made each and every one of my hosts feel.

_You can have control if it makes you feel more comfortable._ It was dangerous for Daniel to be so sweet. My love for him overwhelmed us both. I was foolish to think that I could keep that from him.

**Shay'a?**

_I'm sorry Daniel. I didn't mean to let you feel that, to know that. I know you could never feel the same. It is only that you are so good._

**Jack told me you were good.**

_Jack lies._ Suddenly I feel Daniel's laughter. Daniel's laughter feels really good from the inside. It's warm and soft like a good bathrobe. I begin focusing on Daniel's many injuries, but I still hear his outward conversation.

"Shay'a?" Jack asks.

"Nope," Daniel's voice says faintly.

"Daniel, I'm sorry I helped her enter you."

"I know I'm sometimes a bit of a pain in your ass, but do you really want me dead?"

I hear a note of relief in Jack's voice, "Glad you see it the same way as me, Danny boy."

"Jack, you failed to mention a Gou'ald queen was in love with me."

"Tried to shield you for that one."

Daniel is laughing on the inside and out, "I appreciate that Jack." Then Daniel grows serious, "You are right, she definitely isn't a Gou'ald."

I tried to keep my hope quiet since I was in Daniel, and he felt what I felt.

**Like not love Shay'a.**

_Way more than I ever hoped for._

I hear Jack's voice again, "I suppose I should have told you Daniel, you did always have a thing for past, present, and future Gou'ald hosts. I suppose this is the next logical step."

_**Shut up Jack!**_

___What is he talking about?_ Then I see in a flash Shar'e, and I know he still loves her. I see other less important flashes, and it occurs to me that Jack isn't wrong. Daniel does fall for the bad girls, the sweet faced innocent looking bad girls. Then I see Shar'e again.

_God, Daniel I'm so sorry._

**You didn't do that.**

_People say they are sorry for things they are not responsible for, especially if it's awful._

I don't know who formed the image of Daniel's parent's death. It could have been both of us.

_I wish there was a word for infinity apologies._ I don't feel anger, anger would be easier, its just sadness, pain. _That wouldn't be enough, but there are no numbers bigger than infinity Daniel._

Jack's voice is laced with concern, letting me know Daniel's face is probably showing some of the pain I'm feeling, "You ok Daniel."

"Fine Jack, Shay'a is just apologizing."

"How's that going?" he asks.

"I think she should probably focus on healing my body." Slam, he's shut off to me. Not like Jack shut me out. When Jack didn't want me to know something he went blank. He shut himself off. Daniel has little doors all over his brain that he keeps closed most of the times. You have to coax them open if you want anything, and if you anger him they lock with a thousand bolts. But Daniel never makes his mind go blank like Jack. I don't think he could.

"Good plan," Jack says.

"So did you find her that host you were looking for?"

"Just got approved to start looking a few hours ago. But Daniel, you do know we'll have to keep her in you for a few days for your own safety?"

"Of course Jack," he says and his eyes close for a really long time.

My stomach was twisting against Daniel's hatred. I tried to hide my pain from him, I don't want his pity. But unrequited love is some kind of pain.

**I wish I could stop my feelings from hurting you Shay'a.**

_I wish my actions hadn't hurt you. Daniel, why don't you sleep, you've got some serious injuries here. It would help with the healing._

"Jack, Shay'a says I need a nap now."

I can hear the grin in Jack's voice, "She got you hen picked already Daniel?"

It's silent for a really long time, Daniel is asleep, and I'm working hard on fixing Daniels many wounds. Then I hear someone sit down next to Jack. I take over Daniel just enough to wedge his eyes open just enough to peak through. It's Sam. Their fingers find one another and intertwine; their arms twist together in such a way that it looks like they are holding hands all the way up to their elbow.

"Jack did you really put Shay'a in Daniel?" It isn't revulsion in her whispered voice, but fear.

He flinches at those words, "More like near him."

"Jack you could lose your job over this," so the fear wasn't even about me.

"Better lose a job than Daniel."

Sam closes her eyes and a tear blinks off. He catches it on the tip of his finger as it falls from his eyelash, "We aren't losing Daniel, Samantha."

She turns away and gets control of her emotions after a moment, "How long you've been back in town, Jack?"

He grinned, "When I said I'd call you that minute I got back I didn't mean it literally, Sam."

Sam giggles, "That's not what I meant, Jack."

He grins and brushes his mouth across her forehead in a way which must look to the cameras like he's resting his head on hers, but which from my angle is clearly a kiss.

"I've been here four hours," he says, "I would have called you sooner, but Danny got himself smashed up."

"How long are you staying this time?"

"Until we find Shay'a a host. I convinced them, I guess there is a benefit to having power. Sam, I'm thinking about moving back to Colorado Springs forever."

She startles and turns toward him moving every inch of herself except the hand which is intertwined with his, this remains still, "Quitting the air force Jack?" she says in a quiet shriek.

"Thinking about it."

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"You look good in dress blues," she says leaning her head playfully against his shoulder, before her face gets serious, "I wanted to be the one to quit."

"Sam," he says leaning his head against hers, "You do know I'm not your CO anymore. Neither of us actually has to quit to be together anymore."

"Jack, We live across the country from one another. I don't want to spend any more time away from you. There aren't enough days left."

He pulls his head back to look at her, "Just how old do you think I am?"

She elbows him-mostly with his own elbow, because of the way they are twisted together. "It would take an awful lot of days to be enough time with you, sir."

They are quiet for awhile.

"I'm considering retiring."

"Again?" she asks, "never stick, you've already retired three times."

"I could retire way better than you could quit, workaholic," he says poking her with her own elbow.

"I've barely worked overtime since you stopped being sir, and started being Jack."

"It's been a week, Sammy, I'm not counting on this being a permanent change."

She pulls herself even closer to him, "Count on a permanent change, Jack. Maybe I want to do the whole stay at home mom thing." Sam has her head on his shoulder so she misses it when Jack startles and looks at her with a huge grin on the word mom "make her husband," Jack's grin gets bigger, "breakfast in bed kind of thing."

"As fabulous as," Jack's voice drops so low I can barely hear him, "your eggs benedict are, you don't have to do that. I fell in love with Samantha Carter scientist and soldier. You can be that. I want you to be that."

Sam pulls away until only their hand below the wrist is touching. She's looking at him, searching his eyes. "So, Sam O'Neill, housewife would be a deal breaker."

His eyes light up again at her suggestion. "I would definitely love any form of Samantha you decide to take," he says twisting their hands together again, "But I can't picture you happy like that. And I will not have you being miserable for me. Sam, I wouldn't accept you sacrificing for me."

She nestles back into his shoulder, "That's part of why I want to do it-I don't have to. And it wouldn't be a sacrifice. It would be my choice, our choice," she says looking at him.

"You're serious?"

"Yeah, I mean I'd want to keep working until there were kids, maybe part time after, but…"

He kisses her forehead right at the hairline the same seconds she says 'kids' and squeezes her hand.

"You know my mom did the whole stay at home mom thing…and it was good."

He pulls her even tighter against his body which I didn't think was possible, then he says, "Sam, I really hate DC."

She giggles, and I get the feeling that this conversation is going to continue, but I'm suddenly distracted. Daniel's dreaming. I try not to notice, but I can't it. Sha're is there. She's beautiful, she's sweet, and then in a flash I'm taking over her body. She screams in horror, a truly horrific scream. I've never made a host scream like that. I never tried to hurt a host upon entering, host pain is your pain too after all. But even if I tried I don't think I could hurt someone like that. He's looking into Sha're's eyes, and his heart is breaking.

I take over his body as I feel a scream begin. It resounds hard and clear inside of me from his head to his ankles. It's a fierce scream.

_Its ok Daniel, wake up Daniel. I took over your body to keep the scream inside…You're having a nightmare._

**Did you see it?**

A wave of shame is my only answer.

**It's ok. I've had so much material for nightmares. It's probably psychologically healthy to share them with someone. **

I feel one of those doors open up.

**I've been thinking about Mrs. Moris.**

_The woman I tricked you and your grandfather into giving a cancer causing music box to. The woman I killed._

**How come I didn't die?**

_The music box would only work if you spend hours in the same room as it. Like if you sleep in the same room every night._

But Daniel is farther gone than that. He's in a lot of pain, and he's not quite awake yet. **How come I never died?**

_I never tried to kill you. I only tried to hurt you._

**I've had a lot of chances to die.**

_Have you?_ I reach tentatively into his mind, hoping I'm not prying. He pulls down the doors and lets me see. I'm horrified by all of the things I see there. He's done more than have chances to die. He's died-a lot.

**All of this and I still don't die. At least not a forever kind of death.**

_It's not by accident Daniel._

Daniel isn't even in control of his body, I haven't given it back since the scream, but the sensation of his eyebrows knitting together in confusion is so strong he causes me to do it.

_You bounce back from anything, because of your Daniel Jacksonness._

**Daniel Jacksoness?**

_Your resilience, your unhackable brain, your unbreakable heart, your unwavering moral strength._

**Shay'a I wish I could see myself as you do.** For one moment I granted Daniel his wish.

Three Days Later

Sam's POV

"Daniel?" I guess as my friends body walks into my lab. I'm really hoping I don't get this wrong-again. Jack, Dr. Lam, and most of the linguist department can tell if Daniel or Shay'a is in control by the way he or she walks. I find that concept a touch creepy, but Daniel finds it offense I can't tell the difference between him and a Gou'ald queen. She shakes her head. Crap.

"No, Sam, actually Daniel wants me to inform you he's plugging his metaphoric ears for this conversation." I grin, that is so Daniel.

"Ok, what's up Shay'a, needed some girl talk?"

"In a manner of speaking yes," she says shutting the door, "Am I correct that you and Jack have embarked on a romantic relationship?"

I nod my head. Now I'm nervous, because I know there really isn't such a thing as metaphoric ear plugs.

"Sam are you aware that symbiots can not only stall the aging processs, but in many cases reverse it?" God she sounds like she's working for Mary Kay.

"Umm, no offense Shay'a, but I'm not interested in sharing my body no matter what it does for my completion. And by the way I'm way younger than Jack why don't you offer him your fountain of youth?"

"I'm not thinking about your completion, Sam. You are pretty enough as you are. I've already healed Jack-everything from those bad knees, to what I'm offering you. But it was less necessary with him, since male physiology allows for producing children longer than the female." Holy Hannah. "I've found a permanent host, so it would just be a few days in your body."

I'm stunned. Then Shay'a (who's in Daniel's body) takes my hand, "Sam, I took a lot away from you and Jack. One way or the other I stole both of your families. I want to give it back, now. I want to make sure that when you guys decide you want children, it will still be an option. You deserve that, a whole lot more than that, but at least that."

I'm crying. Holy Hannah, I'm crying.

"Shay'a this is an amazing gift."

"So you accept Sam?"

I nod. "So…I mean…How do we go about doing this?"

Shay'a moves in close to me. I close my eyes, because it looks like Daniel's coming in for a kiss, which is awkward. But closing my eyes turns out to be even more awkward, so I open them. Daniel's lips are two inches away from mine and every time he breathes out some of his breath gets into my partly opened mouth. Suddenly I see Shay'a. She's a queen so she's bigger than your average Gou'ald. She's taking up Daniel's whole mouth. She's wiggling out of his mouth and into mine. I'm trying to hide my revulsion, but this is seriously nasty.

She burrows gently into my throat and it hurts less than some paper cuts. Daniel starts laughing, and our mouths are still so close together it's like he's laughing into my mouth.

And at _this_ exact moment Jack enters the my lab. I turn at the sound of footsteps I know are his, and see that look in his eyes. It's a look I've only seen a few times in our years together. It's the 'this is bad, really bad' look. I'm talking like entire universe about to explode and we're outta plans kind of look.

"Jack," Daniel says, but Jack is already out the door.

I put my hand on Daniel's arm, "I think I should go talk to him."

I catch Jack sprinting down the hallway. He's moved from sadness to anger now. I usher him into a nearby closet where we can talk in private.

"Jack, that was not what it looked like."

"Ok, Carter," oh no, we're back to Carter, "this is the SGC, I'm willing to accept that was not what it looked like, so just tell me what the hell it was." His words sound like he's ready to listen to reason, but his face just looks pissed.

"Jack," Shay'a's taken over me, crap, this was a conversation I wanted to have on my own, but I can't wrest control back from her, "I'm sure you are aware that Gou'ald's switching hosts requires close proximity."

"Shay'a?" he asks. I can tell this is so not what he expected. She nods my head. A wave of relief flies across Jack's face, relief closely followed by anger, "Damn it Carter, you should have discussed this with me," and then the face is back to sad.

I'm back in control and I run my hands down his arms from his shoulder to his writs. "Jack this is temporary," he relaxes a little. I don't know if it is from my touch or words or some combination. "She offered me something, and you are right I should have talked to you first, but I didn't and Shay'a and I made a deal. She's going to enter me for a few days before going into her permanent host."

He looks me over one more time, "So is Danny a good kisser?"

Thank goodness he's relaxed enough to joke, even a strained joke. "Jack, it wasn't a kiss, but as far as blending go it was the best I'd ever had."

He grins, "So Shay'a is a good kisser?"

Shay'a takes over and says sausily, "I'll have you know I am."

"I'll take your word for that. Now can I have Sam back," he says increasing the distance between my body and his from the moment she takes over until I return. I like that Jack can read my body language well enough to know when I am Shay'a and when I am myself. I get where Daniel was coming from, this isn't creepy at all.

"Carter, what did she offer you?"

"Jack" I closed my eyes. Shay'a takes over again, "I'm sorry I know you wanted to have this conversation with Sam, but she, like Daniel is a bit squeamish about it. I offered to de-age her reproductive organs to increase the odds of her bearing your offspring."

His eyes are pretty big right now. "Carter?" he says as he sees my returning.

"Look Jack," I rush on finishing the story Shay'a did an excellent job of starting, "I'm forty, and this way we can be sure we can have kids when we're ready."

He's kissing that spot near my hairline again, "Sammy, you are crazy, wonderfully amazingly crazy." Then he looks into my eyes, "You're going to make a great mom someday." Suddenly panic crosses his face, "The kids will be all you right, I mean no Shay'a?"

"Yes,"

"Good, I'd rather not be father to a half Gou'ald child."

I laugh at the prospect. He pulls me into a kiss which quickly deepens. I pull back. "Shay'a, Jack," I remind him.

"Right, don't want to shock the Gou'ald," he says. He's almost out the door before he turns back to me, "I do trust you Samantha."

"You caught me in a pretty incriminating moment, Jack."

"Still trust you Sam, with my life, and my heart."


	11. Chapter 11 Just a Little Bit More

Just A Little Bit More

Shay'a's POV

One year after leaving Sam

I thought I knew everything I wanted from life-forgiveness, redemption. But having received these things, far easier than I could ever have hoped, I found myself wanting just a little but more. I want trust.

I've been in Mia for a year now. She was a petite 24 year old whose cancer had eaten away most of her already tiny frame when I first met. But she's stronger than she looks. She has fight in her. Fight which made her live long enough for me to save her. She's smart to, way too smart to die that young. She is actually a huge help when I'm making schematics of Gou'ald technology I have stored in my brain. Ok, let's be honest, she makes the schematics of the Gou'ald technology stored in my brain. However, when I'm doing translations or ancient history she sleeps-and snores loudly! I'd much rather have Daniel as a companion when I'm doing that.

Daniel, he and I have formed some sort of bond in the past year. It's a deep bond, but it's not what I-or Mia (she had a crush on the good Dr. before we were blended, now she's head over heels in love with him) want it to be. It's a friendship, no, more like we're his therapist. I guess I figures since I was inside him he figures he has no secrets from me. The poor guy has been through enough crap that lord knows he needs someplace to unburden, and I love that he choose us for that job. But also…it almost hurts that we are so close, so intimate, that I know everything about him, including that he can never love me.

No, I'm not getting love. I don't need love. I just need a little bit more-I need trust. I'm still can't go off base or off world. I'm getting sick of the base let me tell you! Not that I deserve trust after what I've done, after what my race has done. I should be happy-I'm free, forgiven, doing an important job I love. But I want-just a little bit more.

Of course I really want a lot more. I really want Daniel, and a tank full of children. Offspring, decedents, the continuation of my species. But children, I can never have. I would never risk the fate of the whole galaxy for my own personal gratification. As much as I tried the techniques Egeria used to make the Tok'ra there would be no guarantees. Even the Tok'ra had traitors.

My thoughts of children are interrupted-by admittedly what may be causing my thoughts of children-Jack and Sam. They didn't waste any time. Once they decided to be together, they were together. They got married a little over six months ago, and Sam is almost five months pregnant with their baby. She probably didn't even need that extra time I bought her. I smile, trying really hard to hide me jealousy. _Be happy Shay'a, they didn't kill you!_ I remind myself. Mia's laughing at me (but she's jealous too).

"Shay'a I think you overdid the healing of Sam's lady parts," Jack says earning him an elbow from Sam.

"What? Is the kid ok?" I ask really hoping so. Jack couldn't take the loss of another child.

"You mean the kidS." He says grinning.

"Twins," Sam clarifies and I'm hugging them both. Mia bursts in and squeals. Seriously? They might think it was me! That is a distinct flaw in sharing your body with another, no one is ever quite sure who does what.

We break away from the hug, and I'm not having to do a fake happy for them face. I really am as I say, "That is great, you guys. Congratulations!"

"Both girls," Jack continues grinning, "I'm having daughters!" Sam, who has not been having what you might call an easy pregnancy gives him a really dirty look at this. "We're having daughters," he amends. He's standing behind her, and he reaches around her holding his hands on her baby bump. Ok, jealousy back. I so want Daniel to hug me like that.

"Anyway," Sam says leaning into his hug, "Just wanted to stop by and tell you that. I'd better get back to work."

"Not hard work, Samantha," he says.

"I've got a lot to do before I become a full time Mommy," she says grinning at the words.

"Right, because saving the world repeatedly doesn't even count!" he says.

"Don't you have an SGC to run mister?" she says breaking away from his embrace with some reluctance. Right after they started dating Jack requested, much to his superior's surprise, a demotion. He's back to running the place. No more Washington, less paperwork, and more action. Add that to his family situation and Jack is a pretty happy guy.

Jack leaves with Sam, but he's back in a few minutes. "You ok Shay'a?"

I sigh, "Not a good actress am I?"

He looks me in the eye, "Maybe to most people. But we shared a body you know."

"It's stupid, Jack, I got way more than I ever thought I could hope for and I still want more."

He sits down on my desk, "That's human nature Shay'a."

"But I'm not human," I say with a laugh.

"Oh yes you are," he says with certainty. From Jack O'Neill a man with pretty firm ideas about what does and does not constituted a member of the human race that means something.

"Thanks Jack."

"You know Shay'a if you wanted to have kids the base commander might just say yes," he says.

For a second I can't breathe. That's the trust-the just a little bit more I've been waiting for. But I can't do it. So I reply coyly, "What an offer Jack! But how does Sam feel about you volunteering to father a bunch of aliens?"

He laughs, "Very funny Shay'a, my contribution to their existence would end with a signature." He grows serious, "But if that-you know-he-is the only thing stopping you there are sperm banks."

"Think I can't find myself a man, Jack?" I say desperately trying to steer the conversation away from Daniel.

"Oh, I've no doubt you could find yourself any number of eligible bachelors. But I know there is only one you really want."

I look away from him.

"That idiot friend of mine could do a whole lot worse, Shay'a. Should I tell him so?"

Mia takes over in panic (she doesn't get Jack quite yet), "No, please don't. It's bad enough he felt her love, he doesn't need to hear more about it."

He doesn't even tell her he was joking, just pats her arm, and says, "Your secretS are safe with me," and she blushes noticing the plural.

Jack is almost out the door before he turns, "Oh, and Shay'a, you're cleared to go off world. A certain archaeologist demanded you with on a mission. When the higher ups refused Daniel argued with the president himself. Not that I haven't tried that umteen times, but this time it worked. Go figure, he's a diplomat." Jack leaves me to my shock. I'm going off world. Mia's screaming inside me she's been dying for adventure. But I'm more interested in the trust. Daniel trusts me. Again I've been given way more than I could ever hope for. Way more than I could ever deserve. And again, I want-just a little bit more.

I'm still in shock when Daniel comes in.

"Did you hear Sam's having twins?" he asks. I thought I made an excited face. But turns out I'm a really bad actor. At least for people with whom I've shared a body. Daniel's looking at me with a face I can't read.

"Shay'a you're a Gou'ald queen," he says slowly, carefully, as if he's making a point.

**Are we sure he's a genius?**

"Yeah, Daniel, what gave me away?" I retort aloud.

He blinks at me. Daniel hasn't quite decided if he likes my humor yet. I think I remind him too much of Jack. But this time he responds in kind, "Your size flopping around on the floor outside of my office, but anyway you could make more Tok'ra."

**Only with you.**

"I'm not Egeria," I say.

"Well, whatever you would call them, you could make good Gou'ald," he's staring at me intently. He knows how this Sam and Jack thing makes me feel. But he should also know, I can never accept a solution that doesn't involve him. I'll want just a whole lot more.

"There isn't such a thing as good Gou'ald." I say bitterly.

"There's you," and those crystal blue eyes lock on to mine. For a second I forget everything. I forget all the reasons he will never love me, I'm a different species, we're two people in one body, I killed his parents, he still loves his wife. I forget all that, and for a second I believe he loves me. Then I remember, he looks at a lot of people like that.

**Probably why half the female population of the base is in love with the delicious Daniel Jackson.**

_That and many other reasons. Focus Shay'a, focus._

"Daniel, I could never risk releasing even one bad Gou'ald into the world," I argue. The argument seems weaker under the blue intensity of his eyes.

"Even if you gave the world a thousand good ones?" I nod. "But what if we za'tarked them all when they got their host? We could extract any Gou'ald-any of them hiding evil-and leave in any…Shay'a kids." I'm not responding, but it is a really well thought out idea, "I don't want your race, the race that gave the universe Shay'a, to stop existing."

I shut my eyes, because I can't stand Daniel looking at me with almost-but not quite love. I want-just a little bit more.

"Shay'a is the only reason you don't want to spawn-me?" his voice sounds injured somehow and my eyes fly open.

"That is only part of it."

He takes my hand, "So what if that wasn't an issue."

I can't breathe. I can't fathom what he's offering. What he's willing to do for me-a woman he does not love. Allow a race he hates to continue, and more-the price of their continuous. He's offering a lot, all he can give. But I can't accept it, because I want-just a little bit more. I can't respond, and mercifully Mia takes over. "Daniel it couldn't be like that. We could bear having you…without really having you."

Daniel's hand reaches over and he puts it on our cheek. He's never touched me before. "I'm not talking about today, or tomorrow. I'm talking about sometime when it would be real."

_**He can't mean it can he?**_

"How do you feel about me?" I ask since Mia is too stunned.

He doesn't seem confused by our rapid switching of control which drives most people crazy. "Shay'a, I never thought I'd love after Sha're. I didn't really want to love again. To me love was pain. It was dead parents, kidnapped wife. It was longing and emptiness and sorrow. I didn't want to love again, because I didn't think I was strong enough. Then I felt your love for me. And you made me remember that love doesn't have to be painful."

**He's a really good man.**

_To good for us._

**Speak for yourself.**

"Daniel I love you too much, to be loved out of sympathy."

He grins at me in a way that makes my stomach jump into my throat. "Good thing I don't love you because I feel sorry for you then," he says and he leans in for a kiss.

Mia takes over and pulls back, "Umm, Daniel? Who exactly do you love?"

He smiles, "God, both of you? Is that wrong?"

"_**No,"**_ we say together, letting him kiss us then.

"Six o'clock tonight?" he asks.

"You don't use many words for a linguist," I tease.

"Would you like to accompany me on a courting ritual this evening?" he says teasingly.

"Off base?"

"Off base."

"Love to Dr. Daniel Jackson." And I had everything I wanted-everything, and just a little bit more.

Daniel's POV

2 years later

My 57th child is definitely my favorite. Being the 'father' of larva Gou'ald is on the whole not a rewarding experience. First of all they aren't genetically related to you. They just need your DNA in order to avoid rejection when they take their first host in a decade. Secondly you don't really raise them. Ok, so you let them touch your hand for their first few days in the tank. Then you make sure you like the Jaffa you put them in, and off they go for a decade. Ok, so in ten years I'll pick the host, which seems pretty important. Then I suppose we'll have some sort of relationship after what I imagine will be an awkward reunion. Considering I'll be glaring at them from the other side of a Zat'nickitl waiting to see if they live or die. Ahh, fatherhood.

But this is why my 57th child is my favorite. I can still remember the conversation that eventually led to his existence.

"Daniel," Shay'a had said with the third batch of our larva children swimming through her fingers, "it isn't really like human motherhood is it?"

I put my arm around her and pull her close, "Not really."

"And they aren't really your kids," she says.

I've really tried to pretend I don't think that. But honestly, a tiny part of me would be grossed out if they were genetically mine, "No, they aren't."

"Daniel, I can't give you a human baby," but she's Mia now, "But I can."

"Mia?" I say quietly, stalling for time to figure out what I'm supposed to say.

"I want a baby too, Daniel."

I massage her face, "Mia, as much as I'd love to have a baby, it would mean Shay'a has to sleep for nine months. We can't ask her to do that after she spent 20,000 years in a canopic jar."

Shay'a is the one who answers me, "You're not asking, Daniel. I want our next child to be human."

So like I said our 57th child, the human one, is my favorite. Shay'a says that Caerus (The Greek god of good fate or fortune, named after Shay'a as it were) Daniel Jackson takes after me. Perhaps he does in his name, his allergies, and his blue eyes. But I think he takes more after his mothers-both of them. He's inherited Mia's thick brown curls and science aptitude. I guess you couldn't say he inherited, but maybe absorbed, Shay'a's humor and strength. Shay'a says he's got my Daniel Jacksoness, that resilience she loves so much in me. I don't know if she's wrong or right. But I do know, I'm making it a point that we'll never have to find out. My son, will never have to endure the things that revel Daniel Jacksoness, at least if I can help it.


End file.
